The Coronation of Self
by Lewd Concubine
Summary: Szayel Aporro altered their souls permanently. Now, as masters of their own destinies, they have a unique opportunity to change the system that killed them. Future fic. Nnoitra/Szayel Aporro main, Aaroniero/Szayel Aporro, Grimmjow/Yylfordt, Nnoitra/Tesla, Szayel/Yylfordt, others.
1. Part I: Chapter 1

**The Coronation of Self: Chapter One**

**By: Ryoko (Lewd Concubine)**

Although the spot lights obscured the audience from him, Szayel could tell he had their attention. But, then, it was only natural that they be focused on him. Ever since he was a child, Szayel had performed in nothing less than an exemplary manner. He successes were numerous, while his failures could be counted on one hand. This was no exception.

As his partner, a petite brunette, finished her aria, Szayel swept her into his embrace and uttered the final line in the play.

"With this, it is finished," he said, as he drew his gold-encrusted dagger out of his frock coat. His partner looked appropriately aghast as he plunged it into her back. A wondrous trick of mirrors and smoke in addition to a packet of well-placed fake blood made the illusion reality for the audience. Szayel heard their gasps, and knew they thought his character treacherous even as they longed to take his partner's place.

She allowed herself to collapse, and Szayel set her down in one graceful movement as the curtain closed. There was a moment of silence, her breath heavy in his ear, before the rumbling applause reached them. He let her go and they both rose as the rest of the cast joined them on stage. The curtain was drawn open again, and they took their bows in front of the adoring crowd. Roses flew threw the air to land at their feet, but everyone's dignity was preserved. The members of the audience did not call out without need, nor did the cast make any unnecessary maneuvers in front of them.

When the curtain closed for the final time, Szayel took her hand and swung her in a broad arc. She laughed and clutched his arm upon her return. He smiled.

Everyone made their way offstage and to their dressing rooms. Szayel ran a finger over the placard bearing his name-embossed gold, a rarity for the house-before stepping inside. His room was standard fare for the profession, although he had been able to redecorate. Pale pink walls and carpet, white furniture-a gilded edge to the mirror and under the glass table as well. All of these things were symbols of his status and class.

Szayel took off the coat, frilled shirt, and dated pantaloons. He hung them up in his expansive closet, running a hand over them one last time. Everything in its place. Szayel folded himself into the chair in front of his bureau and began to take off his makeup. Each swish of the removal pad revealed flawless skin, and when it was all done he smirked at his reflection, then puckered his lips and blew it a kiss. The brown wig went on its stand, and he shook out his beautiful, pink tresses.

He stepped into his own personal shower dirty-he was the only one who could boast such a thing in the venue-and then out clean. Szayel redressed in his casual clothes: blue jeans, a stylish pink sweater, and white beanie to cover his trademark hair.

It was time to go.

First, he paid his respects to his comrades-always polite, and careful to hide his mocking disdain. He was greeted with smiles, pats on the back, and one or two envious glares.

"Don't be late tomorrow!"

A comedian in the making.

"Of course not." A wink, and then he was turning to go. Out the back entry and down the block, through an alley way. His car was in sight, his keys in hand. He had something, or should he say someone, very important waiting for him in his trunk. All tied up and ready for experiment-

A man walked out from behind a nearby dumpster, dropped his cigarette, stepped on it. Szayel stopped and tensed. The man spoke, exhaling smoke into Szayel's face. He was tall, almost obscenely so. Lithe, yet muscular.

"Nice show ya put on," the man said, and Szayel could see he had teeth long enough to match his height. He smiled. An overzealous fan, was it? He could deal with that.

"Thank you." Szayel relaxed, but only in the most cursory of manners. He brightened, and gestured back the way he had come. "You were there tonight, I take it?"

The man nodded.

"Pricey, but worth it." As the man spoke, Szayel noticed that although he was wearing a refined tuxedo, it was ill fitting. He stepped past the man, never showing him his back, and always smiling.

"I'm glad. It's always nice to hear that people enjoy our work." He would find a different lot tomorrow. A brief wave and then he was on his way.

"That your car?" Szayel did not freeze, but merely nodded.

"Yes." And he was nearing it every second. Keys in hand. Finger on the alarm button.

"Shit, no wonder the tickets are so expensive." The man had moved closer, when? But Szayel was too near now. His door was unlocked, and he was opening it.

"I'm afraid I don't have any control over what they charge," he said, as he slid inside. A click and a push and the engine started. "But I try to make every penny worth it." The man chuckled, and Szayel realized he was now right outside of his car. He closed the door.

"Ya do, ya do." Those abnormal teeth flashed, and Szayel smiled again. The man waved and he offered the same gesture in return, albeit more controlled. He already had the car in drive. Sleek, white, and ready to go.

He went.

Through the garage and down the gate. Into the line of traffic, barely moving. It was a short trip to his apartment, but he couldn't get that man out of his mind. He had seemed familiar, but Szayel couldn't quite put his finger on how or why. As he pulled into his complex's garage, he dismissed the thought. He had probably caught a glimpse of the man while he was on stage. This was nothing more than his subconscious playing tricks on him, and Szayel could not have that. He had far more important things on which to focus.

Szayel stepped from his car and popped the trunk. He grabbed the large suitcase from inside, mindful of its contents, and made his way to the elevator. Although his floor was near the top, the wheels made this an easy burden. He disembarked to a peach hallway, his door at the end. Suites were large on this floor, and he had only one real neighbor, a businessman who was hardly ever home. It suited Szayel just fine.

He pulled his prize down the carpeted hush of the hallway and stopped in front of his room, number 808. Szayel unlocked the door and rolled the suitcase inside with him, flicking on lights as he went. First through the foyer and the kitchen, then into the living room, decorated in the same fashion as his dressing room albeit in leather-a beautiful view overlooking the city through floor-length windows, although the curtains were drawn-to the left and into his bedroom.

It was decorated in the customary white and pink. Szayel rolled his suitcase past the king size bed-perfect for when he had guests-and, again, to the left, presumably into a bathroom. And a bathroom it was, but Szayel didn't use it except for one purpose. It was one of two access points into his true pride and joy: a beautiful laboratory he had constructed himself over the years. He had brought in a contractor for the initial development, of course. Then Szayel had disposed of him, and completed the work himself. It hadn't been hard, with his skill.

Szayel pressed his palm to an innocuous looking tile on the wall, but what was, in fact, a sophisticated biometric reader attuned only to his presence. There was a low hum and then the floor-length mirror slid into the wall. Szayel stepped inside, his specimen in tow. Even should someone make it this far, they would, no doubt, be put off by the darkness beyond. It was a second foyer of sorts, the entirety painted a foreboding black. Szayel, again, pressed his palm to the wall, and a second, almost indistinguishable, door slid into the wall to reveal his true destination.

The laboratory was bright and familiarly sterile. Szayel rolled his prize into the middle of the room and stopped. He exhaled a deep breath, letting out all his mundane worries with it.

It was so good to be back in his element. Here, he was surrounded by his favorite things.

Specimen tanks lined one wall, with the tools of his trade arranged neatly on a work table against the adjoining wall. Rounded cabinets graced the wall above. Laboratory tables spanned the center of the room, adjustable lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling. Everything was ergonomic, and tailored specifically to him, as with his security measures. After his admiration was concluded, Szayel unzipped the suitcase and allowed the man within to fall onto his pristine floor. He was handsome, but not to Szayel's taste. He preferred lithe, younger men. This one was muscular, and dressed in a fine suit, but he was too short. His complexion left much to be desired, but then, Szayel had not chosen him for his looks. Beneath that crop of lackluster brown hair lay his intended goal.

Szayel was not the weak fop most assumed him to be. Far from it. This was an innate talent he downplayed most of the time. Szayel preferred to remain the harmless eccentric, only displaying his aptitude when he saw fit. It served him well now, as he hefted the man onto the nearest table and then went to wash up and redress in his surgical scrubs-he could not have his own biology tainting the experiment, however fortunate it would make his specimen.

Upon his return, he injected the man with a drug that would keep him asleep while he removed the top of his skull. The time for his full cognizance and cooperation was not yet at hand. Szayel prepared his shaving equipment and saw before beginning to work. He lopped off most of the man's ample hair with long, sure strokes of the razor. After his specimen's bald head was revealed, Szayel cleansed it with water and an antiseptic. Next, he made an incision near his eyebrows that extended around the circumference of his head. Szayel peeled the skin back far enough that it would not interfere with the saw. He then lowered his face shield and began his true work. The saw was efficient, but he would still have to clean the mask later. Small pieces of bone flew threw the air, and would have blinded him had he not been wearing glasses and his face shield. When all was done, Szayel set the saw aside and removed the top of his specimen's skull and revealed his beautiful, pink brain.

Szayel secured the man with metal restraints that clamped to the table. One for each joint, in addition to the preventative, metal bars on either side of his head. Szayel couldn't have his guest disrupting his esteemed work, after all. He administered a counteractive stimulant in addition to an analgesic to him and waited for him to wake. After a few moments, the man opened his eyes. They were brown, like his hair, and unfocused. He groaned, and Szayel smiled.

It was time for the experiment to begin.

.

Two hours later and Szayel had coaxed him through the begging and threats and into full, resigned cooperation. Everything was coming along well.

After completing the initial examination and going through a few memory, stimulus, and reflex tests, he administered his newest prototype drug and began anew. His equipment, thin metal rods he inserted into the man's brain at several strategic locations, recorded everything.

"Your wife. Who is she?" Szayel asked. He looked to the side at the giant monitor on the wall. The man didn't say a word, but he didn't have to. The imagine of a plain woman, blonde with brown eyes-an odd combination-was splayed across the screen. "I see. And your children?" The screen flickered and went blank. So, he didn't have any. "Show me more. How did you meet your wife?"

A beach in the winter. Icy waves crashing along cold sands. Szayel could see the man's breath puffing out in front of his vision. There was the woman again, younger and less plain. She was bundled up in a winter coat, brown like her eyes, watching the waves. The image flickered and she was closer.

"Are you okay?" the man said.

She looked up, her eyes widening just a little.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. You're Peter, aren't you?"

"That's right," the man said, after a pause. The woman smiled. It seemed impossible that there would be a seagull around, but Szayel could hear its distinct cry. There could be no mistaking it. The woman noticed it too. She looked to the side, and Peter turned too.

"Did you hear that?"

The feed swiveled up and down as Peter nodded. The bird called out again, but Peter was already turning back to look at the woman.

"I can't believe it. At this time of year..." The woman started, and then smiled. "Forgive me. I don't think I told you my name. I'm Susan."

A loud buzzing sound caught his attention. Someone was ringing his doorbell. Szayel tapped the man on the shoulder and the screen flickered.

"That will be enough. For now." The memory faded, to be replaced with another one. Szayel saw himself looming over Peter.

"I don't think you quite understand your position, do you?" the memory of him said. Szayel tapped the man again and this faded too.

"It seems you're finally learning."

"You're really depraved, you know that?"

Szayel's smile stretched wide.

"My, but I do so value your opinion," he replied, as he covered his specimen's exposed brain with a special cloth he had invented that would repel bacteria. "I will return."

Szayel snapped off his gloves, and moved a separate monitor to examine his security feed. His eyes widened as he saw exactly who was at his front door. Again, the doorbell rang. Szayel gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowed. He took off his mask and apron before washing his hands. This would have to be addressed.

Szayel emerged from his laboratory and sealed both doors behind him. He walked into his living room, steps slow and heavy. The doorbell rang again, and he hesitated before moving on through the kitchen and into the foyer. Now he could hear the man's voice.

"-know yer in there. Open up!"

Szayel paused just inside his door.

"How did you find this address?" He frowned. This wasn't right. He had left too quickly for something like this to occur. For that man to have followed him, what had happened? There was a silence, and then the man spoke again.

"Got my ways. Open the door." The man's voice had a rasp to it, probably from the smoking.

"I'm afraid I don't have the motivation to comply." Really, he should call the police. This man was clearly a stalker. He heard him scoff. Szayel could almost feel his eyes boring into him through the door.

"That so? Then let me give you some." Szayel quirked an eyebrow. "I know."

"And what, precisely, is that supposed to mean?"

"Who ya got in there, I know."

"Nice try, but I'm alone," Szayel replied, although perhaps he should not have mentioned that part. Not that it really mattered. He was at home now, and he had the means to defend himself and acquire a new specimen.

"Such a liar. I know you've got Peter Worthington in there. Probably all cut up by now, ain't he?" Szayel's eyes widened and he froze, dread settling heavy on his chest. How...?

"You have quite the imagination. Why don't you leave before I call the police? I have some sway over them, you know. High priority." Szayel's talent as a thespian was useful. His voice betrayed none of his surprise and uncertainty.

"Call 'em." It was Szayel's turn to scoff. Such unfounded pride. Disgusting, really.

Szayel fished his pink cellphone out of his pocket and flipped it open. He punched in the number and was about to press the call button when the man spoke again.

"Did ya clean out your car this time?" Szayel's finger froze where it was, and his eyes narrowed. This man was becoming very annoying. He pressed another button on his phone for the noise, and held it up to his ear.

"Yes, I have a situation. A stalker has found his way to my apartment-yes, Szayel Aporro. Yes, same address. Thank you," he said, speaking only for his stalker's benefit. There was no one at the other end of the line.

"Ya got some balls, faking shit like that." Too observant, this one. Szayel might really have to call the police. But the man was right. Although they probably wouldn't believe him, it might throw suspicion in his direction. That would not be good, especially given that he really did have a Peter Worthington laid out on his laboratory table. If the man mentioned his name... His specimen wasn't considered missing yet, of course, but when his wife or coworkers noticed his absence and called it in, an officer just might remember this conversation. Any evidence would be long gone, but the suspicion would remain. And if they discovered his laboratory… Unlikely, but it would be a disaster. All his data would be lost, confiscated.

"What do you want?" The man chuckled. It was a low, maniacal sound that grated on Szayel's nerves.

"Already told ya. Let me in."

"And if I do?"

"You'll see. Now hurry up. I'm tired of standing in this shitty hall. Fucking ugly out here."

Szayel sighed. It couldn't be helped, could it? This man knew something about him and, more importantly, the name of his current specimen. It was alarming, and he would get to the bottom of it before acquiring this man. It wouldn't matter what he knew, then. He was as good as dead. He just didn't know it yet. No, and he wouldn't either. Not until Szayel made his move. Szayel's smile was malicious, but fleeting. It was gone by the time he undid the locks and swung the door open, replaced by something more disinterested. All carefully schooled, of course.

The man sniffed and stepped inside once Szayel allowed him to pass.

"About fucking time," he said, as Szayel closed and locked the door behind him. He rolled his eyes. To impose oneself on a stranger like this, and then make such demands... Truly, he was irritated. This feeling only increased as the man slouched his way over to his living room. He noticed the view and whistled.

"Knew ya were a rich bitch, but shit. That's a damn nice view," he said, as he plopped down on one of Szayel's sofas. He was still wearing the same suit, although it looked a little dirty now. Szayel made a mental note to have his maid pay special attention to his furniture as he joined the man by sitting down on the sofa opposite.

"What do you want?" It was normal for Szayel to have no patience for idle chit-chat. Given his present company, the feeling was magnified. He almost didn't care who the other man was or what he had to say, was almost ready to kill him where he sat, but he did need to find out what was going on. It was a good thing for his guest that Szayel valued intellect over instinct. Not that he realized it. No, he was rolling his eyes as if Szayel had offered him a great insult.

"Here I came all this way, but whatever." He paused, sighed. "I saw yer picture in some magazine and thought ya seemed familiar."

Szayel quirked an eyebrow. While it was true he had also found the man familiar, there had been an easy explanation for that. This was the same.

"Of course you did. I'm quite famous, you know." He had probably seen an advertisement Szayel had participated in, or some other nonsense like that. None too bright after all, this one. The man scowled at him, and Szayel shrugged, an elegant rising and falling of his shoulders. "That still doesn't explain why you felt the need to stalk me."

"It ain't like I don't know that now, jackass! But you're forgetting something, aren't ya? Not everyone gives a shit about your artsy fartsy crap. I hadn't even heard of your ass before I saw that picture."

"Even so, you likely saw me somewhere else. I'm represented across a vast array of mediums." Was this man insane? Such mundane, easily explained concerns had nothing to do with him. And he had yet to answer the question.

"You don't believe me? Fine. Doesn't matter. Point is I know what you are and what yer up to in this-" He looked around, eyes resting on the Venetian glass vases Szayel had displayed as part of his decor. When next he spoke, his voice was at a higher pitch. "-girly pad ya got here." It was Szayel's turn to roll his eyes. In addition to being an inelegant moron, this man had very poor taste. Was there anything redeemable about him? It seemed doubtful. Perhaps his looks, after he'd had a long shower to cleanse him of the obvious filth, but Szayel could find little else and even this wasn't enough.

"So you say."

"You wouldn't have let me in if you didn't have to."

"I only let you in to hear the rest of your fairy tale. Please, do continue," Szayel said. He smirked at the man. A true fool. Szayel was not about to give in so easily. The man leered at him, then shook his head.

"Whatever ya say. Doesn't matter either! All I gotta do is mention that guy's name to the cops and you'll be in deep shit. Won't make a difference even if they don't find anything. They'll be watching you. Fry your ass next time." Szayel's sigh was deep and long suffering. The man was right. He was backed into a corner here. Not that he would admit it.

"As I said, do continue."

"Tch. Anyway, I looked your ass up after that. I know ya work with brainy shit too and I know what you're researching. Memory, ain't it? You don't think it's just a little weird I know you and you know me but we haven't fucking met until now?" The man's eyes widened a little bit, in contrast to Szayel's quickly narrowing ones. Yes, he had recognized him. But that didn't mean anything was abnormal.

"The thought hadn't occurred to me." At least he knew a little more about his stalker's motives now.

"Go on. Tell me you didn't know me. You'll be fucking lying. I saw it in your eyes."

"What you saw was my surprise and disdain at having been accosted in an alleyway by..." Szayel's gaze traversed the entirety of the other man's body. "Well, I'm certain you can understand I don't associate with people of your caliber." It would be ridiculous to assume anything otherwise. They were from different, non-intersecting, planes of existence. In an ideal world, that was. The man scowled again, which inspired Szayel to smirk. This game was his. There was no possible way he could lose.

"Like hell I'd want to be seen with a pansy like you either."

"A most original and clever comeback. Truly."

"Shut the fuck up." Szayel would be nothing but a smear on the floor if the man's glare had any power over the physical realm. "I got you by the balls and ya know it."

"I'm afraid I don't agree."

"Then why don't I just call the cops and let them sort this shit out." There it was again. Perhaps he wasn't as big of an idiot as he seemed. Szayel pursed his lips.

"You still haven't said what you want."

"Shit. Better question is what don't I want." The man fished around in his coat pocket and drew out a cigarette and lighter. He lit up and took a long drag.

"Do you mind?" Szayel waved his hand in front of his face to displace the sudden smell. His furniture would definitely need to be cleaned. It might have only been one cigarette, but the toxic effect was still present. The only thing stopping him from reaching across his glass topped coffee table and putting it out on the man's cheek was the fact that his laboratory had an independent ventilation system. He could deal with damage to his apartment, but that? Would be an unforgivable offense.

"A million dollars," he said, puffing away without comment on or acknowledgement of Szayel's discomfort. "Should be chump change for a rich bitch like you."

"How original." It was a relief to find this man had motivation beyond his inane musings on memory, and something so simple, too.

"So whaddaya say?" He tilted his head back and exhaled a stream of smoke directly up and into the air vent. Szayel ran a hand through his hair-he would need to shower soon to rid himself of the horrible scent-and attempted to distract himself from this. While it was true his pockets were deep, this would still be a significant financial drain. In addition, there was no guarantee that the man wouldn't come back for more later. He seemed the type to do so.

It was an altogether good thing that Szayel had no intention of letting him live.

"First, tell me how exactly you came by all this." Szayel skirted the edge of his guilt, not admitting a thing, but still managing to ask about it.

"I told ya. I got my ways. Now, do we have a deal?" Definitely more intelligent than he seemed. Szayel would not make the mistake of underestimating him. Appearances were deceiving, as well he knew.

"How do I know you won't simply come back for more once you've squandered it?" The man grinned, showcasing those abnormal teeth once again.

"Afraid you're just going to have to trust me. It's a bitch, ain't it?" Szayel frowned. Trust was a word that seldom found its way into his vocabulary. It was certainly not associated with stalkers and blackmailers.

"If that is how it is..." Szayel sighed, feigning resigned acceptance. In reality, he was calculating the distance between them and his odds of success if he were to attempt anything. He was fast and strong, but then the other man looked to be too. Szayel could not definitively say he would win, and this was what halted the action before it even commenced. He would find another way.

"Glad ya understand." The man was leering again. "I'll be back tomorrow. Make it cash and we're green." He stood and, after a last drag on his cigarette, had the audacity to drop it on the white carpet and then grind it in with his heel. Szayel rose with him, and followed him as he made his way to the front door.

"Be seein' ya," he said, once he had made his way into the hall.

"The pleasure is all yours, I'm certain." The man chuckled, low and dark. Szayel slammed the door behind him. His hands curled into fists. Truly unbelievable, to think he had been bested by that. He didn't even know his name. This was all a bad joke, but tomorrow was a new day, and he would be prepared-not with money as the man expected. Oh, no. Szayel had no intention of giving into his demands. Instead, he would turn the tables on him.

Szayel headed for his bedroom with a smile on his face.

.

Notes: This was my NaNo for 2010. Although I didn't win, I still got a sizeable amount written. Unfortunately, it's still ongoing so I haven't been back to _really _edit it yet. That will come in time. I want to finish it first. What does that mean? Good things for updates! Which is unusual for me…

Anyway, this is a rather ambitious plotline that I came up with in October, and I want to extend my thanks to Emochromatic and Sakurazukamori6 for it. To Emochromatic because I was greatly inspired to write my own multi-chaptered Nnoitra/Szayel Aporro fic after reading 'Fuchsia Phoenix' and 'Mariposa' (both are excellent stories which you should read if you have not already). To Sakurazukamori6 for her unflagging support and betaing.

As for the story itself, I'll just say that there is a reason for everything. As for the similarities and dissimilarities, they are deliberate. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!


	2. Part I: Chapter 2

**Warning: This chapter contains triggering content! Please avoid if underage, averse to the idea, or if non-consensual sex is a trigger for you. **

**The Coronation of Self: Chapter Two**

**By: Ryoko (Lewd Concubine)**

Szayel had decided that the best way to kill someone of his prospective blackmailer's caliber would be a drug overdose. The man looked to Szayel as if he consumed illegal substances on a regular basis. This would be simple, easy, and arouse little suspicion if the body were found.

He had prepared a syringe full of a powerful opiate for the occasion. Now the only thing he needed was for the man to show himself. Szayel should have asked for a specific time, but he had been distracted. Now he was stuck. He hadn't even gone to work that day, thus making his coworker's friendly jab a reality. This irked him, but not as much as the fact that he was grounded, at the beck and call of a man of the lowest order. It was humiliating, really. Szayel would have to take out his frustration on the man's corpse.

Finally, at around six, the doorbell rang. Szayel turned from the window, where he had been enjoying the view as he contemplated his little problem, and let the silk drape fall closed.

The man was wearing a pair of black jeans and a ratty looking, sleeveless tank top this time. His combat boots were loud on the tile as he walked in, the few metal bracelets he had on his left wrist jangling against each other. The outfit met Szayel's expectations.

Before he could say anything, the man was heading into his kitchen. Szayel closed his mouth, along with the door, and followed him. Instead of heading for the living room, the man had found Szayel's refrigerator and was now busy rummaging through it.

"The hell kind of shit is this?" he asked, as he pawed through shelves filled with fruits and vegetables.

"Are you blind? Food, of course."

"Of-fucking-course, that isn't what I meant. Where's the junk? All I see is chick food." He held up a container of hummus and seemed to be struggling with its pronunciation, so Szayel relieved him of it.

"I'll thank you to halt your pointless exploration there," he said, as he returned it to its proper place.

"Ain't pointless. I'm hungry."

"How unfortunate for you," Szayel said, his tone as deadpan as his expression. When the man didn't give up his search at this, he sighed and brushed him out of the way with a hand to the chest. Szayel grabbed several stalks of celery and some carrots and closed the door to the refrigerator. He washed them in the sink, then shaved the skin off the carrots and cut everything up into manageable pieces. These he arranged on a plate, which he handed to the man. There was a point to this little exercise besides the obvious. If the man would trust Szayel with something like this, he might let his guard down later. The man took the plate and scowled at it.

"You call this a fucking meal?"

"I am not here to serve you." Even though that was what he had just done.

"That isn't what-ah, fuck it. You got any sauce or anything to help me choke this shit down?" the man asked, as he squinted his eyes at the vegetables. He stuck out his tongue in a gesture of disgust, and Szayel was struck by how long it was. He supposed it was fitting given the size of his teeth. Szayel rolled his eyes, but retrieved a bottle of ranch dressing from his refrigerator nonetheless. He had intended to give him a small portion, but the man plucked this from between his fingers with a grudging, 'thanks.' He proceeded to dump a wasteful amount all over the vegetables, with a large pool in the center of the plate, before handing Szayel the bottle back. Moderation was a concept clearly lost on him.

The man brushed past Szayel, holding the plate high as if to guard it from harm. Szayel washed his hands and then followed. He found his prospective blackmailer sitting in the exact same spot as the previous night. He already had several slices crammed into his mouth, and was chewing with it open. No manners either, but then, Szayel already knew that. He eyed the grey spot on his white rug with disdain before sitting down on the opposite sofa. The man shoved another four pieces into his mouth with a grimace, then spoke with his mouth full.

"'ts -gusting." Szayel made to fix his glasses. His breathing was deep and even. Keep calm, he told himself. Don't let him provoke you. This might have worked, had the man not decided next to wipe his ranch covered hand all over the sofa. Even Szayel's superior skill as a thespian could not stop him from rising from his seat. But the man didn't seem to recognize what had happened. He made a gagging noise and then handed Szayel the soiled plate, as if he had stepped up just to serve him.

Szayel could do nothing but take it. He spun on his heel and strode back into the kitchen, taking advantage of this reprieve to slam the dish into the sink and then wash his hands again. Truly a disgusting individual. If he had left the plate... No, he didn't want to think about any further damage to his precious decor.

Szayel rejoined his prospective blackmailer just in time to see him wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, and then drag said hand down his jeans. Szayel stopped next to him, standing tall.

"Let's expedite the process, shall we?" If his prospective blackmailer dragged things out any longer, he might ruin all of Szayel's careful plans by making him angry enough to shove the man through a window.

"Sure." The man rose, and Szayel led the way into his bedroom. There was a suitcase full of fake bills ready for his perusal. It was waiting for him on the bed. Szayel unzipped it and stood to the side.

"I think you'll find everything is as it should be," he said. As the man reached in and began to thumb through the bills, Szayel slipped behind him. The man picked up one of the parcels and whistled.

"Shit, yeah!" Szayel took the opportunity to relieve his pocket of the syringe he had prepared.

"I'm so glad you approve." Szayel's tone was dry, belaying the building sense of anticipatory excitement he felt. He eased a little closer and raised the syringe high before jamming it down hard into the man's side. Two things happened in the space of a moment. Szayel depressed the plunger, and the needle shattered. His eyes widened. What had...?

The man whipped his head around, his eyes narrowing at the spreading stain. He grabbed Szayel's hand before he had the chance to move it and twisted. Szayel let out a pained cry and dropped the syringe.

"Fucking knew you were a psycho! You think I didn't come prepared?" he said, his tone almost a snarl. Before Szayel could offer a reply or even move to defend himself, the man shoved him back into the wall. His head smacked against it, causing his vision to blur for the moment. But the man wasn't done. He punched Szayel in the stomach before letting him drop, boneless, to the floor. He clutched his stomach and tried to rise, but the man gripped him by the hair. This caused his already throbbing head to send a renewed message of pain to his brain. Szayel groaned and screwed his eyes shut. His glasses slipped from his nose and dropped to the floor, but he didn't let this stop him. Szayel was not one to accept defeat in such a calm manner. He kicked the man's knee, causing him to stumble and fall. Unfortunately, he kept his grip on Szayel's hair, and so both were dragged down to land in a tangled heap. He felt some of his precious hair tear free, but was distracted from this as the man slammed his face into the ground. Without delay, his opponent gripped his arm and twisted it behind his back.

"Don't fucking move, asshole," he said, but Szayel paid him no mind. He attempted to rise, but a knee slammed down into his back, forcing him to the floor. He could hear the man panting even as he struggled for breath. The side of his face felt numb where it was pressed against the floor. Not a good sign.

"Alright," he said, barely managing to choke the word out. This was the worst possible outcome, but Szayel was powerless to change it. For the moment. The man grunted in reply, but did not remove either of Szayel's sources of pain. Instead, he pressed down harder.

"Coulda been so nice and easy for ya, but now the price has gone up." Szayel was almost completely out of breath now. He couldn't even move his head to nod. The man seemed to notice this. He relented the tiniest amount, and Szayel was able to breathe. The man removed his knee, but kept his grip on Szayel's hair and arm as he hauled them both to their feet. He pushed Szayel forward and at the suitcase, which was somehow still in place. "This shit's fake too, isn't it?"

"Of course no-" The man gave him a vicious shake, and Szayel gasped in pain.

"Don't lie to me."

Szayel swallowed. It wouldn't do him any good to continue with his charade now.

"Yes."

"Tch. Fucking knew it." Without preamble, he shoved Szayel into the suitcase, using his body to brush it off the bed. It banged to the floor, money flying everywhere. "As conniving as a woman. Guess I'll have to treat you like one, too."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Instead of answering, the man let go of Szayel's hair. He was relieved until he felt that hand palming his ass through his pants. All the color drained from Szayel's face. "What are-"

"Shut the fuck up," the man said, as he reached around to undo Szayel's zipper. He caught the man's hand in his own before he could complete the motion, but received a painful twist of his other arm and was forced to let it go. The hand withdrew only to yank his pants down. They dropped to his ankles. The man tore Szayel's underwear down next, his breath heavy on Szayel's neck.

"There is no need for this," he said, his voice a little uneven. His blackmailer palmed one of his ass cheeks and then squeezed.

"You think I'm stupid? You tried to fucking kill me. Like hell I'll let that go."

Szayel could feel the burgeoning erection digging into his back even as he spoke. He grit his teeth. He was not an animal, and certainly not something to be used by a man like this. Szayel had far more pride than that.

"Get off," he said, his voice pregnant with menace. The man only laughed and shoved a finger inside him. Szayel gasped through his teeth.

"That's the idea, ain't it?"

Szayel kicked back, but the man dodged it. He shoved Szayel down until his face was buried in his soft bed. The footboard dug into his hips. The finger inside of him moved, and he felt like he might vomit.

"Shouldn't have fucked with me. I was gonna take the money and run, you know," the man said. Szayel hardly heard him. He was too busy fighting against his comforter for room to breathe. The man's hand left him, and he chuckled. By the clinking sound he could also hear, Szayel gathered that he had found the restraints screwed into his footboard. Cold metal around one of his wrists confirmed his suspicions.

"Ya should have said you like it rough." The man dragged Szayel's other arm out from under his body and pulled it to the first one. A moment later and he was restrained and unable to escape. Even if he could have fought the man off, he would still be held to his footboard by the chains connecting to the cuffs. But that didn't mean he wouldn't try. The man withdrew and Szayel made to vault over the footboard and onto the bed. A hand stopped him short and he cried out as his thighs slammed down on the metal footboard.

"Where are you goin'?" The man dragged him back. All Szayel could do was groan as his flesh was abraded by the metal. He heard a rustling sound and craned his neck to look behind him, but everything was a blur. A second later and he felt the man parting him.

"No, don't." Any further reply was cut short as, without preamble, the man thrust inside. The sensation overrode any other feelings of pain. Szayel was singularly focused on the excruciating slide of the man's cock as it entered him. He wilted against the bed, willing himself to relax and admit the monstrous appendage that just kept coming and coming and-Szayel really felt like he was going to be sick now.

"Fucking tight, but you've done this before, haven't you?" the man bit out as he finally, mercifully, finished his forward movement. "Kinky bitch."

Hands gripped his hips, fingernails digging into his flesh, as the man began to pull back out. Szayel could hear those metal bracelets of his clinking, and did his best to focus on that sound instead of the fact that he would be violated again in the space of a moment. The second slide was a little easier than the first, but that was not the man's doing. Szayel was breathing slow and deep, forcing himself into utter relaxation. Before he knew it, they were on three, four, five, six. As the man picked up the pace, Szayel began to lose count. His world was narrowing down to past experience as he blotted out what was happening to him. Soon, he began to rise to that rhythm.

Of course, the man had to notice. He felt the rumble of his chuckle through the entirety of his body as the man leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"Little slut." He licked the shell of Szayel's ear with that abnormally long tongue and Szayel gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.

The man didn't seem repulsed by his lack of a favorable reaction. Szayel shuddered. He kept his eyes closed and imagined other, more pleasant, occasions. Aaron had had strong arms, just like these. And he had been rough too. As long as the man kept quiet, it was easy for Szayel to save himself with this comparison. But, of course, that couldn't last forever.

"Thought a mouthy bitch like you'd have plenty to say." The man's voice was harsher than usual, his breathing shallow. It jolted Szayel from his temporary reprieve, but he offered no response. The man didn't seem to mind this either. He increased the pace once again, and Szayel was forced to concentrate on simple things like the slide of silk sheets against his face. His own unwilling erection was being abraded by the metal, but this did nothing to halt his arousal. His thighs were forced against the footboard in the same painful succession.

Time stretched to infinity, but Szayel heard the man's guttural grunt and felt him pull out. This was followed by a warm spray over his back and arms. The sudden stillness was irritating. Every part of him ached, and without any pleasure-however uninvited it had been-to distract him, this was all he could focus on.

The man leaned over to croon in his ear.

"Not bad." He smacked Szayel's ass and laughed. Szayel could hear a rustling noise, and soon after that, footsteps.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his tone smooth and even. He didn't want the man to come back, but he didn't want to be left here like this either.

"Be seein' ya. Next time, this shit better be real."

Szayel raised his head and winced. He unglued trembling thighs from his metal footboard and attempted to stand straight. His assailant couldn't be serious, could he? But it seemed he was. The retreating footsteps did not halt, and all too soon, he heard the slam of his front door.

The sheets were done for, but if he acted quickly enough, Szayel might still be able to spare the carpet the same fate. He sighed, then raised one aching leg at a time to climb on his bed. It was awkward, but at least he could lay down this way. There was a key, of course, but Szayel was too worn to do anything but rest for the moment. He heaved a deep sigh, his eyes narrowing as the breath whooshed from his lungs.

.

The sun burned low in the sky as Szayel made his way inside his favorite cafe. His steps were measured and even, if slow. The little bell on the door tinkled, announcing his arrival to the waiting man. Szayel made his way around circular tables, patrons, and baristas alike, until he found Aaron's familiar face. Szayel slid into the booth across from his old friend and finally deigned to remove his large, black shades. Szayel folded his arms, clad in long sleeves, on the table and smiled.

"So, did you find anything?" Szayel asked, as he took in Aaron's blue suit. As impeccable as always. He had yet to disappoint Szayel, as far as these things went.

"Boy, did I ever. You wouldn't believe who you've gotten mixed up with," Aaron said, his jovial brown eyes belaying the hidden scorn that Szayel knew was there. He arched an eyebrow.

"Is that so? I suppose you won't need the extra sample I brought, then."

"No, the print on that cigarette butt was more than enough. But, really, he's a tough guy. I almost didn't believe it."

"As always, I am in utter suspense." Szayel was prevented from saying more by the arrival of a barista. A girl in her late teens with blonde hair and the flighty attitude to match.

"Two mocha lattes?" she asked, and Aaron nodded.

"That would be us." The barista set down the cups of steaming coffee.

"Let me know if there's anything else I can get for you."

Aaron flashed her a disarming smile.

"Sure thing."

She walked away with a little bounce in her step, and they were alone once more.

"You ordered for me?" Szayel asked, as he took a sip of the rich blend.

"You've got pretty predictable tastes, Szayel."

"Perhaps." Szayel's smile was fleeting, but genuine. "More importantly, just how long are you planning to make me wait?"

Aaron sighed.

"Alright. Well, this guy's pretty big in the underground. He's got a lot of priors, but only one conviction. People are really afraid of him, you know?" Aaron ran a hand through his short, brown hair and then let it drop to his lap. "We've been looking to get some dirt on him for a while now to bring him down."

Szayel quirked an eyebrow, but did not bother to rise to this bait.

"That could be anyone."

Aaron sighed again.

"You want specifics? I get it. Well, the guy is something of a fighter. He's got a reputation for violence, and seems to have his fingers jammed in anything he can reach. Prostitutes, drugs, and it's known he got on the wrong side of the Caravaggio family once. The fact he's still around should tell you a lot."

Szayel could have surmised as much on his own. What he was really looking for was something more identifiable.

"And his name?"

"Officially, Norton Jones. But he only goes by Nnoitra Jiruga, so that's what everyone on the street calls him." Aaron cleared his throat. "We could really use a break, Szayel."

It was Szayel's turn to sigh.

"I'm well aware, but unfortunately I can't help you." The fact that his assailant, this Nnoitra Jiruga, was some kind of jack of all trades with regards to illicit activities did not detract from the fact he had Szayel in quite the uncomfortable position. "I'm certain I don't have to explain why."

Not to Aaron, of all people. They knew each other too well. Classmates, friends, and former lovers. Both had a passion for acting and shared the joy of being duplicitous. Szayel still recalled with fondness the time they had tricked a fellow classmate into bed with them, only to leave the girl scarred by the experience. Nothing that would give them away, of course, but Szayel was certain they lived on in her nightmares for quite some time afterwards. They had each helped the other out of a few tight spots in their long history.

Aaron's eyes bored into his for a moment, and then he relaxed. That misleading smile was back as he propped an elbow on the table.

"If you say so, Szayel."

"I do." For a few moments, Szayel allowed his displeasure to show in the downward quirk of his lips. Then he smirked. "Tell me more."

Aaron mirrored the expression.

"There's not much more to say."

"Come, now. Do you really expect me to believe that?" He had no time for Aaron's games. Not now.

Aaron grinned, then took a sip of his coffee.

"I assume you want to know where he hangs out."

Szayel's eyes narrowed.

"Yes, I would like that very much."

"It isn't much, but I've heard he likes Delway's Bar." Aaron placed his hand on Szayel's arm, and he did his best not to flinch at the touch to his tender skin. For once, Aaron seemed completely serious. "Be careful, Szayel." He seemed about to say something else, but stopped and brushed Szayel's sleeve up. This revealed his sore, red rimmed wrist.

"I knew you didn't look so good." Szayel let out an exasperated sigh and made to pull away, but Aaron caught his wrist. He winced at the contact. "You'd never wear long sleeves out of season."

Szayel rolled his eyes.

"As you can see, I've made an exception." He let his arm fall limp, and Aaron relaxed his grip. He turned Szayel's hand in his own and eyed the mark there.

"Using something new?"

"You could say that."

Aaron smirked.

"Doesn't do anything for you."

Of course it didn't. Nnoitra hadn't bothered to ask his permission or use them properly. But for Aaron to joke like that... Szayel took his wrist back.

"It's none of your concern." He hadn't told him about the rape, and he didn't intend to. Let Aaron think it was the work of an overzealous lover. Szayel was far more comfortable that way. That he had been bested and sullied by the lowest sort of man was an almost unbearable shame. He had been stewing over it for the entirety of the previous night as well as all that day.

Aaron's eyebrows lifted high.

"If that's how you want to be." His eyes were dancing with that familiar mirth. It didn't matter what Szayel said now. Aaron would still be amused at his expense.

"I didn't come here for that."

"Of course not," Aaron said, even though Szayel could tell he was entertaining thoughts of a lascivious nature. He'd always been put out that Szayel had stopped sleeping with him, but Szayel didn't care. Aaron was acceptable to his standards, but he refused to settle for anything less than the exceptional. Aaron was great, but not extraordinary. He didn't even have the willpower to pursue his real dream of acting, as Szayel had-his personal affairs notwithstanding. Instead, he had gone into the FBI. This made him infinitely more useful to Szayel, but was not enough to persuade him to continue the relationship.

Szayel cleared his throat.

"I have to go." He slapped down several bills and rose, taking his coffee with him. "Thank you for looking that up for me."

Aaron leaned back in his seat. He watched Szayel's every motion, and Szayel knew that when he turned, those brown eyes would be glued to his ass.

"Anytime," came the answer. It seemed casual enough, but Szayel could tell Aaron was mentally calculating his debt to him.

Szayel nodded, and turned to leave. As expected, he felt that gaze boring into him all throughout the store and even onto the sidewalk. It was not until he was turning the corner that the tingling sensation faded. He began a brisk pace despite his pain as he headed back to his car. The sun had gone down, but the street lamps were not on yet. Rush hour was beginning to wane, and there were fewer pedestrians around.

As Szayel passed the first alleyway, a lanky arm came out and pulled him inside. Coffee spilled all over his pants as he dropped the cup. He opened his mouth to scream, but a hand quickly clamped down on it. Szayel's other arm was twisted behind his back. The resounding pulse of pain that sprang up his spine made him see double for an instant.

"Goddamn smart of ya to be meeting with a suit like that in public."

Any doubt Szayel had about the identity of his assailant faded at the sound of that voice. He sagged a little as he feigned resigned acceptance, but Nnoitra's grip did not loosen.

"Think I'm real fucking stupid, don't you? Well, you're the dumbass here, bitch! I'm not falling for your act." Nnoitra shook him, twisting his arm higher, and Szayel let out a pained gasp. It was muffled by those awful fingers of his. He dragged Szayel further back into the alleyway, but Szayel still offered no resistance. Despite what Nnoitra had said, he knew he had a chance to turn things around on him here. It wouldn't be a dramatic shift, but it would make him feel a little better.

Szayel waited until they were hidden behind a dumpster before making his move. He opened his mouth as wide as he could, and then bit down on the imbecile's hand. Szayel jerked his head to the left. He felt something tear before his mouth filled with blood as Nnoitra's curses invaded his ear. He let Szayel go, and he turned to run. Before he made it two steps, Nnoitra was on him. He kicked Szayel in the back and he went down on the dirty asphalt. Newspapers fluttered around him as the stench of rotten meat and urine filled his nostrils. In this momentary confusion, Nnoitra landed a savage kick to his ribs. Szayel gasped and coughed, feeling his bones creak in protest.

Something in his mind snapped, and before he knew it, he was on his feet facing the scum. Nnoitra had his fist raised for another blow, but Szayel caught it with his arm and turned it aside. He delivered a hard punch to the man's sternum, sending him back a few steps.

It was happening again.

"You fucking-" But Szayel was on him again. He delivered several blows to his face and, following this, kneed him in the groin. Nnoitra's head snapped back and forth, and then he went down on one knee.

Szayel stood tall and triumphant over him. He felt like himself, yet not. He should have been in pain, but instead he felt nothing.

"You believe that you have the advantage here, but that is not the case."

Nnoitra heaved to his feet and, again, if his glare had had any power over the physical realm, Szayel would have been cinders. He wiped a hand across his face. This left a bloody trail down the front of what Szayel was coming to consider his customary white tank top.

"The hell I don't. Ya caught me by surprise just then, but it won't be happening again." That infuriating leer was back, and he seemed to be appraising Szayel. For his part, Szayel wasn't sure what he had expected to happen, but it certainly wasn't this. He couldn't say why, but it felt as if the danger had passed for the moment. Adrenaline was still thrumming strong through his veins, but he felt the return of his many aches and pains. His disconnection from reality faded, and he sighed.

"I have enough evidence to prosecute you for your crime against me, Nnoitra Jiruga. That makes us even."

If Nnoitra was surprised that Szayel knew his name, he didn't show it. He only shook his head.

"No, it doesn't. Not by a long fucking shot." He was still leering. "How are ya gonna explain that to the police, huh? What a rich bitch like you was doing with a guy like me?"

"They will not be so quick to believe your nonsense."

"That's what ya think, huh?" The man scoffed. "Yeah, I'm sure they'll think I'm a fucking liar after seeing the juicy evidence I got on ya."

Although Szayel felt a pang of anxiety run through him, his expression did not change.

"And what, exactly, would that be?"

"You'll see. So go ahead and do it. Call 'em." Really, did he think Szayel was an idiot? The man had nothing on him. Even if Szayel were anything less than fastidious in his methods and the worst were true, it wouldn't mean a thing as it was obvious Nnoitra was lying.

"Now who is putting up a front, hmm?" he said, his voice tinged by amusement. Nnoitra's leer was unwavering, and it was only this that gave him pause. He certainly had a good poker face.

"Think I'm shitting ya? Fucking call 'em then." He chuckled, the now-familiar sound low and dark.

Szayel rolled his eyes.

"I tire of this little game. Goodbye." He turned and began walking away, straight down the alleyway. Szayel dodged the rough hand that threatened to crease his sleeve. He turned to glare at Nnoitra for his continued audacity.

"Find someone else to attempt blackmail on. I'm through with you." He brushed past Nnoitra, slapping that same hand aside, and began walking back toward the sidewalk. If Nnoitra wouldn't leave him alone, it would be better to be in a public place. This time he kept his gaze glued to Nnoitra's back-for he hadn't yet turned-as he walked.

"I asked you before if you'd cleaned out yer car. Wasn't for nothing, yanno."

Szayel froze midstep. He sighed. It seemed impossible, but the man might actually be telling the truth. And if he did have evidence, it would be very bad if he were to reveal it. Very bad indeed.

"What do you want?"

Nnoitra turned, his lips stretched wide in an inhuman looking grin.

"Now that's more like it. Where's yer car?"

Szayel hesitated, transferring his weight from one foot to the other, before answering.

"Why?"

"Always with the fucking questions. Where's the trust?"

"How ridiculous." It truly was, especially after what had happened. Or, rather, what Nnoitra had done to

him.

"Not like I ever gave ya anything you didn't deserve."

Szayel supposed that was true. He really hadn't done anything until after he had been provoked. That still didn't mean Szayel trusted him though. But it was better than nothing.

"Fine."

"Lead the way!"

And Szayel did. However, once they were seated in his beautiful Lexus, he began to doubt his decision. As predicted, Nnoitra lit up as soon as he made it inside the car. Everything would need to be washed now.

Szayel cracked both windows.

"You couldn't have done that while we were outside?" he asked, although he suspected the man was doing it just to irritate him.

"Now where's the fun in that?"

Szayel rolled his eyes again.

"At least tell me where we are going." Nnoitra hadn't said a word more about what he wanted, and Szayel was growing impatient. He gripped the wheel perhaps a little too hard as he reversed out of the parking space.

"Take a fucking guess," Nnoitra said, as he leaned forward and blew smoke into the vent. Szayel's eyes narrowed. It could be any number of things, of course, but he had a suspicion.

"Given your obvious proclivities, I assume you want money."

"No shit." He whispered this directly into Szayel's ear, causing him to lean away as he began the downward descent into the lower level of the parking garage. Nnoitra's breath reeked of tobacco.

Szayel offered nothing in response but a noncommittal grunt. He was concentrating on driving, and the delicious appearance of the other cars in the facility. It was always a pleasure to park here. Luxury was apparent everywhere, although Szayel was well aware there was an underside to everything. That was represented by the man currently staining his own precious vehicle with his presence.

Szayel continued to distract himself as they neared the exit to the parking garage.

"Take a left," Nnoitra said, as he settled back into the car's patent leather seat. Szayel's fingers tightened on the wheel before he turned on the signal. A yellow Mercedes sped by, and Szayel took off after it.

"I don't suppose you're going to enlighten me as to our destination, are you?" Szayel felt the car shift gears as he accelerated. Beside him, Nnoitra was still puffing away on his cigarette. When he didn't answer right away, Szayel rolled down both windows all the way before locking the controls. "Well?"

The man winced and brought his arm in from where he'd had it resting on the door. He turned his cigarette

and cupped it to keep it out of the wind.

"So fucking touchy! Just relax and drive. I'll tell ya when we get close." Nnoitra stuck the cigarette between his teeth and then began to fiddle with the controls. Smoke billowed out of his nostrils. For a moment, Szayel was so distracted by the filth that he didn't notice the Mercedes's brake lights glowing bright. He looked up just in time to slam on his brakes and skid to a halt mere inches from the other vehicle's bumper. A loud thump announced the collision of Nnoitra's palm with his dashboard. He hadn't been wearing a seatbelt, and this was the result.

"Fucking be more careful." Nnoitra scowled at him. It was an expression Szayel had no problem returning.

"Put it out. Now." He wasn't driving an inch further until Nnoitra ceased to be a distraction. His vehicle, precious as it was to him, could be replaced, but any injury to his mind was a problem. The body, also, would mend, but if he lost even a fraction of an IQ point to Nnoitra he was going to kill him. Not that he didn't already have designs on this. With more information on his opponent, Szayel was all but unstoppable. All he needed was time. Which Nnoitra wasn't giving him. His annoying voice cut short any further murderous musings.

"You like your leather, yeah? Then just fucking drive already." Szayel frowned, but put his foot back on the gas pedal. The threat was a valid one, as Szayel knew from past experience. It seemed he had no choice but to tolerate the man's rudeness or else risk his property. Szayel kept his eyes glued to the road so as to avoid looking at his unwelcome guest. After another minute, Nnoitra instructed him to turn left again.

Szayel now had a real idea of where they were heading. It seemed Nnoitra was taking them to Szayel's bank. He should have guessed as much. Nnoitra didn't even have to tell him to take the next right or left. Szayel rolled into the lot and parked the car. He sat stiffly in his seat as Nnoitra finished the cigarette and tossed it out of the window. He made a motion for Szayel to roll both up, and he did so.

"Now, why don't ya be a good little bitch and go fetch me two grand?"

Szayel didn't utter a word. This was to the man's apparent surprise as his laughter regaled Szayel as he exited the vehicle. It was only cut short as he slammed the door. Szayel trudged over to the ATM where it was glowing brightly against the brick of the building.

It was disconcerting in the extreme that Nnoitra was aware, not only of his bank's location, but of his banking habits as well as the bank's own policies regarding his account. As a platinum member, Szayel was entitled to certain benefits of which the regular customers were unaware. A higher withdrawal rate was one of them. Szayel might have overlooked Nnoitra's awareness of his financial habits had he not quoted that specific number.

His opponent was far more cunning than he had previously thought. It seemed impossible that he was working alone. To that end, Szayel would have to make different plans. If it didn't end with Nnoitra, he couldn't start with killing him. No, he needed to pay everyone involved their appropriate dues. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it seemed he was stuck with Nnoitra for now.

Szayel fed his card into the machine and punched in his personal identification number. He would change it as soon as he got home, just in case. This was another perk of being such a wealthy and valued customer. A few commands later and the ATM began to spit out an endless stream of bills. When Szayel finally had the requisite amount in his waiting hand and the transaction was completed, he turned on his heel and headed back to the car. It sickened him, but he would have to play into his opponent's hands for now. For this, he would surely concoct a grotesque punishment.

Szayel tucked the money into his pocket and opened the door. He slid inside and started the vehicle. It purred to life as Nnoitra lit a second cigarette. Truly a professional. He wasn't even asking for the money. Not while under surveillance from the bank.

"Well, ya gonna drive or what?"

Szayel rolled his eyes as he put the car into drive.

"Make a right," Nnoitra said, pointing in the direction with his lit cigarette.

Szayel rolled both of the windows down again as he granted Nnoitra his obedience.

"Trying to smoke here, yanno." Nnoitra glared at him as if Szayel was the one in the wrong.

"I'm well aware." He may have had to obey Nnoitra's demands until he found out the truth behind the matter, but that did not mean he had to play nice with him. Szayel was a superb actor, of course. He could have pulled it off, but he had no reason to do so.

Nnoitra flicked his ashes on the floor of Szayel's car instead of out the window, and Szayel was forced to admit that he might have to reconsider.

"At least use the ashtray." Szayel's fingers were white where they gripped the beige wheel once again.

"What's the matter, princess? Got a problem?" Nnoitra leered at him, and Szayel grimaced.

"If I do roll it up, will you use the ashtray?" It was decided. He was never going to let this imbecile into his vehicle ever again. Nnoitra's irreverent attitude was more than he could bear.

"Only one way to find out." Nnoitra was still leering, and Szayel was left to take the only real option available to him. He rolled up Nnoitra's window.

"That's more like it." Thankfully, it seemed Nnoitra was good to his word. He dumped the ashes into Szayel's never-used tray and sat back. "Now, about that money."

Szayel handed over the minuscule amount without a word. Nnoitra stuck his cigarette between his teeth and thumbed through the bills.

"Turn in there." Szayel looked where he was pointing. It was a shabby looking 7-11, certainly nowhere he would have dreamed of stopping on his own. Nevertheless, he rolled into the lot and parked near the edge of the storefront. Both the interior and exterior lighting around the place was dim. There were only two other cars in the lot. A beat up looking F-150 at the gas pump and an aged blue Honda parked a few spaces away. The building had the same unsavory air as the man himself, a seedy undercurrent that permeated the surrounding atmosphere. Szayel wanted no part of it. Thankfully, it seemed Nnoitra wasn't going to be staying long.

"Meet me here tomorrow, same time. I'll be expecting more dough. And it better be legit or..." Nnoitra leered at Szayel, his gaze travelling down his body. Szayel, in turn, cocked an eyebrow.

"You caught me by surprise. It won't happen again," he said, returning the man's earlier words to him.

Nnoitra's leer seemed to intensify, the malicious intent that was present becoming magnified.

"That a challenge?"

Szayel sensed the danger and sought to defuse it by rolling his eyes and waving his hand dismissively.

"Are we done here? I have places to be, you know." Anywhere but where he was.

Nnoitra exited the car in a swirl of smoke. He leaned in, blowing the horrible stuff inside.

"Tomorrow," he said. Then he slammed the door. Nnoitra leaned on the wall, his leer directed at Szayel as he pulled away.

.

Notes: I wrote all of this before the Hell Arc/movie/thing/whatever came out, so obviously my ideas about Szayel Aporro and Aaroniero predate the new canon. I have issues with how KT portrayed Szayel in that short, but I am nobody to say anything to him. Anyway! There are a lot of things I think I could have done better in this chapter, but it is what it is. I also think I may write just a bit too much of their banter, but that is because it pretty much takes on a life of its own. I swear, it feels as if I'm simply transcribing sometimes.

If there is anything that needs clarification (or to be omitted, etc), please let me know! I haven't _really _revised my work just yet.

Dedicated to Emochromatic and Sakurazukamori6, with a special shout out to Xylexia. Thanks for the support, everyone! I hope you enjoy it.


	3. Part I: Chapter 3

**Warning: This chapter contains a sex scene with some light to medium kink (ymmv)! Please avoid if underage or averse to the idea of restraints and biting.**

******The Coronation of Self: Chapter Three**

**By: Ryoko (Lewd Concubine)**

"I already told you that I can't say a word about it," Szayel said, as he heaped their plates into the sink. He ran a little water over them to prevent the cheese from sticking. He had invited Aaron over for dinner as he had a few more questions about Nnoitra. Broccoli and cheese quiche, prepared by himself, was the main course. Now, as he watched the water slide off his geometrically patterned dishes, he was beginning to regret it. Aaron had chosen to press him, but it was about something Szayel was not willing to divulge. He needed information for use as a weapon against his opponent, not an assistant in the matter. He would confront Nnoitra on his own terms.

"I thought you understood."

"Aw, come on. You know I'll keep your identity confidential," Aaron said. Szayel could hear him even though he was seated in the living room.

He dribbled soap over the dishes and left them. Few things were more important than keeping everything in pristine order. This was one of them.

"I'm well aware," Szayel said, as he emerged from the kitchen. He took a seat across from Aaron, who was sitting in the same spot as Nnoitra had been during his last visit. Szayel crossed his legs and leaned back. He didn't want to give Aaron ideas. He was too good at coming up with them on his own already.

Sure enough, a crooked grin stretched Aaron's lips as he stood.

"If that's the case, maybe we could work something else out."

Here it came.

"Really. I thought we were past this." Szayel didn't mind the sex. Not at all. It was simply the fact that Aaron took it too seriously and Szayel, of course, wasn't willing to settle for him.

Aaron took a seat beside him, and Szayel raised an eyebrow.

"I could lose my job for this, you know?" he said. Szayel was about to remind him that no one knew what the two of them talked about in private when Aaron drew a manila envelope out of the interior pocket of his blue, designer suit. Szayel's other eyebrow joined the first high up on his forehead.

"What is that?" It couldn't be...

"I brought you everything we have on him." Aaron placed the envelope in Szayel's waiting hands. It was at least an inch thick and heavy enough to match. Szayel was suddenly very grateful he had a friend like Aaron. He had his other sources, of course, but none so reliable as an old lover.

"You shouldn't have," he said, as he ran his fingers down the sides of the envelope. He would finally find the answers for which he was looking here. It seemed he would not have to put up with Nnoitra for as long as he thought.

"Anything for a friend, right?" Aaron's crooked grin was back. He looked at Szayel with heavy eyes, and Szayel knew he couldn't refuse him. Not that he wanted to at this point. Perhaps some casual sex would do him good. He was very tense these days. There were other people Szayel could have called, of course, but Aaron was right there and he had just done Szayel an enormous favor.

"You really came through for me, Aaron. Thank you," Szayel said, as he flashed him a welcoming smile. Aaron interpreted the signal for what it was and leaned in to kiss him. Szayel did not fight him in the least. Aaron's lips were as possessive as ever over his own, but Szayel didn't mind. It was a familiar dance.

He turned toward Aaron and leaned into him. Aaron ran his hand roughly down Szayel's back and slid it between him and the sofa cushion to cup his ass. He all but devoured Szayel's lips as Szayel lifted himself onto his lap.

Aaron's other hand was busy stroking Szayel's side, up and down and soon underneath his long-sleeved, cashmere blouse. Fingers lifted to caress and circle Szayel's abdominal muscles as the kiss continued. Szayel undid Aaron's tie and then the first few buttons on his dress shirt. He made his own exploration of already familiar territory even as Aaron continued to do the same. Szayel's nipples were next on his list. Aaron lifted his blouse and broke the kiss, leaving Szayel to regain his breath. His mouth dropped to cover, lick, and then finally, bite at Szayel's left nipple. Aaron wasn't gentle, but that was what Szayel liked about him. He'd have a mark from this, and many more, later.

With an impatient groan, Szayel slipped his blouse over his head and tossed it to the floor, all this without breaking contact with Aaron's tantalizing mouth. The other man wrapped an arm around Szayel's torso as he continued his ministrations, now focusing his attention on the other nipple. Teeth dug in and pulled, and Szayel's head flew back as his chest grew warm. Aaron took the opportunity to alter their position. He lay Szayel down on the sofa and settled himself between his legs. Szayel could feel his erection. It was heavy against his own as Aaron pressed their bodies together enough to grind against him.

Szayel gripped Aaron's arm where it found purchase beside him and rocked back, another step in this customary dance. Aaron's eyes bored into his own, and Szayel returned the intensity of his gaze. It seemed Aaron would say something, but he did not. Instead, he divested himself of his shirt and jacket. These joined Szayel's blouse on the floor as he worked on Szayel's belt.

Szayel caught his fingers.

"I'm not coming back. You know that."

Aaron smirked and forced his hand past Szayel's own.

"You said you weren't gonna do this either," he said, as he unzipped Szayel's pants. The brush against his erection caused him to twitch, and Aaron smiled. "See? You can't deny you want me."

Aaron's hand settled possessively on Szayel's thigh and then began to draw his pants down. The sensation was as delicious as ever, but that didn't stop Szayel from having his reservations.

"You're greedy." It was both a compliment and a complaint, and Szayel felt the keenness of his own words as Aaron slipped a hand between the arm of his sofa and the cushion. After a moment, he pulled back triumphant. One fourth of the restraints hidden in Szayel's sofa was in his hand. The chain connecting it to the wood buried inside the sofa disappeared into the crevice from where it had come.

"You don't mind." Aaron replied, as he worked the leather binding around Szayel's left wrist. "It turns you on."

Szayel couldn't deny the truth behind those words, but what Aaron didn't realize and had never realized was that those feelings didn't extend beyond the bedroom.

"Only here," Szayel said, offering his customary reply. He had little doubt Aaron would misinterpret his words once again. He always did.

Aaron tightened the restraint until it was firm against his skin. He reached for the other one and applied it to Szayel's free wrist. He then reached for the hidden lever located in the same place, and turned it until Szayel could not move his hands very far from the arm of the sofa at all.

"Let's just enjoy ourselves, huh?" he said, as he dipped his hands under the waistband of Szayel's underwear. A fingertip brushed the head of his cock. Szayel shivered, looking at Aaron with hooded eyes as he was fondled. Aaron's grin was crooked as he leaned in and smashed their mouths together in a covetous kiss. Aaron's hand continued to stroke Szayel's erection, and he gasped into the mouth that always sought to conquer him. Aaron drew back panting. He licked Szayel's lips before his mouth dropped down to the crook of his neck.

If there was one quality Szayel could appreciate about Aaron, it was his voraciousness. Szayel had never had a lover quite the same. Aaron was busy proving himself once again as he sucked and nibbled on Szayel's tender skin. His free hand roamed Szayel's side, stroking him as if Szayel were a horse easily spooked. That false show of tenderness only turned Szayel on more.

He sucked in a breath, his chest expanding with its suddenness, as Aaron bit down. The pain was almost unendurable in its exotic intensity. Szayel felt his pulse pounding in the spot at the first, warm trickle of blood. He opened his mouth to say something about the sofa, but Aaron was a step ahead of him. That hot mouth never left his neck as it sucked down every drop. Szayel's hands clenched above his head as Aaron moved down to his chest. The second bite was no less intense, nor the third, fourth, fifth. Each seemed to be connected to his groin. Szayel could do nothing but gasp and moan as his once-lover worked his way down to Szayel's erection.

Szayel spread his legs a little wider to accommodate him, his foot hitting the coffee table in his abandon. When Aaron began to nibble on his erection, Szayel's legs snapped back and he had to fight not to crush Aaron's head with them. He had no hands to grasp his hair, and his tension was manifesting itself in other ways. Aaron continued to nibble and lick-never daring to bite, not there-until he finally, belatedly, took Szayel's entire erection into his mouth.

Szayel's back arched off the sofa, and this time he could not help himself as his legs shut on Aaron's head. It was only when he felt the firm depression of teeth into said erection that he realized what he was doing and relaxed his limbs. Aaron's muffled grunt was enough to let him know he wasn't pleased, but Szayel was beyond caring. What was paramount in his own mind, as always, was his own pleasure. He did not mind when the first of Aaron's fingers breached him, nor the second or third. He didn't care about the dull, burning sensation accompanying them. It was but a minor addition to the delicious, thrumming agony from his many wounds. What Szayel cared about was that he was enjoying himself. Moreover, he hadn't even had to do any work. All was as it should be.

He looked down at Aaron from under lowered eyelids as Aaron drew back to spit inside him. Cold air wafted over his slick erection as Aaron repeated the process with his own. Aaron's was slightly smaller if Szayel was honest, but he didn't mind that either. A second later and Aaron was pushing inside. Szayel could feel the slow, burning pleasure in his gut turn into a boil as Aaron fully seated himself inside.

Szayel's reasons for avoiding sex with this man seemed altogether trivial as Aaron began to move. He slammed into Szayel as if he was making up for his years of absence. Some blood flow came back into Szayel's arms with the vicious rhythm, but his hands were quickly going even number from the back-and-forth. Szayel wrapped his legs around Aaron and pulled him in closer, deeper. Their gazes locked together, and Aaron let out a ragged breath. He cursed and picked up the pace even more. It was now impossible for Szayel to distinguish pain from pleasure, and himself from Aaron, whose sweating palms held his hips in a powerful grip. In the delectable finality of it all, Szayel came, Aaron's name whooshing out with his-he felt certain-last breath.

.

It took Szayel four days to dissemble the information contained in Nnoitra Jiruga's folder. He spent most of his time in-between visits with the vile man at work on this. By the time he was finished, he had a very good idea of the seriousness of his situation. It had been obvious to him for some time that Nnoitra hadn't been working alone. Now it was even more apparent. And Szayel knew, if not a first name, then certainly a last name: Caravaggio. Although none of the documents stated it directly, it was postulated that the reason Nnoitra had escaped the crime family's wrath was that he was now working with them. Szayel had had his suspicions before, but now viewed it as fact.

Szayel was not afraid of Nnoitra in the least, rather the consequences of being discovered. The fact that he was now certain a high profile underworld family was involved was not a bonus. But he could and _would_ use it.

Szayel ran a finger across one of his laboratory's examination tables and then fixed it in his gaze. Pristine. A smirk curled the corners of his lips as he thought of how dirty it would become later. Szayel hoped Nnoitra enjoyed the sun this day. It would be the last time he ever saw it.

Later, much later, when he pulled up to their now-customary meeting spot with the money for the day, he found Nnoitra pacing instead of in his usual squat. Szayel slowed to a stop in front of him and the other man sprang into action. He practically jumped into the car, and slammed the door behind him. Before Szayel could so much as raise a brow, he spoke.

"Don't give me any shit right now. Just drive." Szayel could tell he was serious by the dangerous undercurrent in his tone. He pulled away from the storefront and then out into traffic. Whether Nnoitra knew it or not, he was playing directly into Szayel's hands. They hadn't interacted more than necessary since the first such meeting. That Nnoitra had done this was unprecedented.

"I am not your servant," he said, to keep up appearances. "Take it and go. I have better things to do than cart you around all day."

Nnoitra offered him a frustrated grunt before devolving into some of his usual profanity. Finally, he finished with a quip that, Szayel was certain, took most of his brain power to accomplish.

"Shut up and drive!"

Szayel was in too good a mood to be bothered. Instead of wasting his time on trivial matters, he turned his attention to the traffic. After a few minutes of driving, with Nnoitra peering in the review mirror every so often, the man spoke again.

"Where's the money?"

Szayel raised a brow.

"And here I thought you had forgotten about it," he said, his tone dry as he made a left down a familiar street. They were growing closer to his apartment, but Nnoitra didn't seem to notice. His attention was focused on the review mirror once again.

"Expecting someone?" Szayel asked, as a twinge of unease tickled down his spine. His plans were carefully laid and he worried about this unknown variable. Now that Szayel was aware of Nnoitra's associations, the game had taken on a new level of danger for him.

"None of yer damn business," came the reply.

Szayel put on his blinker, signaling he was going to turn into a parking garage. Nnoitra's pale skin lost some of its only color as he turned his glare on Szayel.

"The hell do you think you're doing? I said _drive_."

Szayel's brow almost met his hairline.

"You are aware I am not obligated to grant you a tour of the city, hmm?" he said, as he made the turn. Nnoitra wasn't giving him any information. It was disappointing, but he would have to postpone his plans and simply get rid of him as soon as possible. Szayel was no stranger to life threatening situations, but he also didn't willingly plunge himself into them.

Nnoitra scowled, but his eyes quickly widened as a dark sedan pulled in behind them.

"So fucking stupid. Now they have us cornered," he said, his voice practically a hiss. Nnoitra's pursuers were faster than he predicted. He didn't know who was in the car, but he did know he didn't want any part of it. Szayel reached inside of his cream-colored jacket and pulled out the envelope containing two-thousand clean bills. He had another batch laced with a special, paralyzing drug-ingenious, as usual-and had prepared this as a contingency plan. Unfortunate that he had to waste it, but circumstances were not currently in his favor.

He slapped the envelope against Nnoitra's chest as he gunned the engine up the ramp to the second level.

"Take it and get out."

Nnoitra looked down at the envelope and then back to Szayel's face. His expression was so serious that Szayel turned his eyes from the path in front of him to meet the other man's gaze.

"You don't get it, do you?" There was a pause as Nnoitra let out a breath, his eyes narrowing. "They ain't after just me."

Szayel almost screeched to a halt. Only an innate sense of self-preservation kept his foot on the gas as he made the first and then second turns around the garage.

"What do you mean they're not just after you?"

Nnoitra looked at him as if their situations were reversed and he was the idiot in the car.

"Thought ya knew all about me. All that bragging just a bunch of bullshit, huh?" Nnoitra grabbed the envelope and slipped it into his jacket. Behind them, Szayel could see the sedan creeping around the corner. "Now that you've been so stupid, we're gonna have to bail. After the next turn, follow me."

"What are you-"

Nnoitra cut him off with a wave of his hand. Szayel eyed the car following them. He decided he would acquiescence. For the moment. He sped up the ramp and around the corner. Nnoitra yelled for him to stop and he screeched to a halt. The man was jumping out of the car a second later and roaring for Szayel to follow him.

Despite his better judgment, or perhaps because of it, Szayel leaped out of his car. He followed Nnoitra as he darted between a grey Mercedes and a yellow Audi. They sprinted around and through cars to the sound of screeching tires and slamming doors. Raised voices soon followed. Szayel and Nnoitra were halfway across the garage when the first bullet whizzed by. It struck the cement wall just shy of Szayel's head, sending a piece of the rock into his shoulder. Szayel's footsteps faltered as he wheezed in a breath, pain exploding through his limb. He heard the sound of running feet besides his own and Nnoitra's and an angry shout.

"Don't kill our meal ticket, you idiots!"

Szayel ducked into the stairwell after Nnoitra as another bullet zinged past. He flew on adrenaline speed down the first two flights of stairs, his injury all but ignored in favor of his life. Nnoitra shouted something unintelligible before leaping over the banister and taking the six-foot drop to the ground as if it was nothing. Szayel was, again, reluctant to follow, but necessity in the form of the sound of the door to the parking garage slamming dictated that he follow. Szayel leaped. Every bone in his body, especially his shoulder, shuddered at the impact. But there was no time. Nnoitra was already a good distance down the sidewalk and Szayel had the ill feeling that if they were separated, his chances of survival would be diminished.

He took off after the man. Szayel followed him to the sound of metallic steps and curses. The Caravaggio didn't seem to want to take the same chance. When they reached the corner, Nnoitra stumbled. Red slid down his arm along with the curses dropping from his mouth, but still he urged Szayel on. As if he needed to. Szayel was on his heels as Nnoitra rounded the corner and then crossed the street. Nnoitra clutched his bleeding arm as he guided them into the nearest alleyway and then around the next corner.

He stopped so abruptly that Szayel almost ran into him.

"Wha-" Before Szayel could react, Nnoitra was tearing off an arm of his cream-colored jacket. Nnoitra held the strip out to him, but he didn't need to say a word. Szayel understood. The blood would act like breadcrumbs and give them away. Something had to be done about it before they could move on. Szayel could yell at him about this and many other things later.

"Quick! Tie this shit off."

Szayel didn't bother to tell Nnoitra that he knew. There was no time. He grabbed the cloth and hurried to tie it around Nnoitra's open wound. They were off as soon as he was done. Blood seeped through the fabric, but it was certainly coming a lot slower than it had before. Nnoitra did his part by wiping his arm off on his tank top as they ran past a Panera Bread and a local coffee shop. People were staring, but Szayel and Nnoitra were moving fast enough that they proved only a fleeting oddity.

Szayel couldn't hear any more sounds of pursuit, but he supposed the criminals were being more careful in such a public area. His muscles were sore, stiff, and his shoulder ached. This was not mentioning the fact that he had been running for four long blocks with only one pause. After another, he finally spoke.

"Nnoitra. Where are we going?" The why of it all would come later. Right now, Szayel was only interested in making it stop. Nnoitra's pounding steps remained as steady as ever as he threw a glance over his shoulder. Finally, around the next corner, he jogged to a stop.

"I think we lost them," he said, in between huge gulps of air. Szayel couldn't hear beyond his own throbbing pulse and intake of air, but he looked around and found nothing.

"We can't stay here," Szayel said.

"No shit." Nnoitra's response was typical. Szayel didn't let it bother him. Instead, he grabbed Nnoitra's hand and dragged him down the next alleyway. He had a place nearby. It was a contingency plan that had now become necessary. Szayel praised himself for his cleverness even as Nnoitra leveled a few more choice curses his way.

"Nnoitra. Trust me." Szayel was not about to kill him without finding out what was going on first, after all. The man was relatively safe.

Nnoitra stopped struggling and instead simply voiced his concern.

"Where are we going?" he asked, repeating Szayel's earlier query. This brought a smirk to Szayel's face. He dropped Nnoitra's hand now that he was certain the man would follow.

"You don't know? Good." That meant the Caravaggio didn't know either.

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Szayel's confidence straightened with his posture and he allowed himself a brief expression of his mirth in the form of a chuckle.

"It means we'll be safe."

Nnoitra's grunt was enough of an acknowledgement for Szayel. They completed the rest of the trek in relative silence, with Szayel pondering this new turn of events.

The apartment was little, but it served its purpose well. Szayel had purchased it a few years back under a false name. He hadn't bothered to decorate it, but only to furnish it with necessary items-such as the bedroom that doubled as a laboratory. Instead of a bed, there was a lab table. Instead of a dresser, there was a row of cabinets, all with an unbroken counter top.

As Szayel sat Nnoitra down and began to disinfect his bullet graze, he reflected on his missed opportunity with no little anger. There hadn't been time for him to properly feel or express his emotions, but oh, how they simmered.

.

Notes: I feel like everyone but me forgot that Aaroniero existed. I swear, he gets so little love. But what isn't to love about two balls in a giant glass dick? I wish I could take credit for that image, but it is due to SeeMe. All vulgarity aside, I really, really do like him as a character. Maybe I have a thing for crazy. In any case, bringing all of this up because it has come to my attention that some people don't recognize Aaron for who he is. Which is my fault for not making it more obvious. So here goes. His sexual preferences might not make any sense unless you know who he is. I could say more, but I feel that would undermine the value of my work. Until next time. Enjoy!

Dedicated to Emochromatic and Sakurazukamori6.


	4. Part I: Chapter 4

.

******The Coronation of Self: Chapter Four**

**By: Ryoko (Lewd Concubine)**

Reason was Szayel's tool, his weapon. His life. Which was why, when all explanations had been given, he felt no little irritation over the sheer absurdity of it all. Szayel simply couldn't believe it. There was no logic to be applied here. None at all.

The Caravaggio were after them because Nnoitra had been "_going too easy on him?_" Overlooking his already excessive treatment of Szayel, such implied that Nnoitra was delaying the inevitable. That part was clear to Szayel. It was the why of the matter that troubled him. Why delay things? Could it be that Nnoitra actually _enjoyed_ being around him? It seemed absurd, but it was the only thing that made sense.

Szayel was quickly reverting his opinion of Nnoitra back to that of an obsessed fan.

Szayel had his merits-a bountiful amount, some might say-but it was not as if he went out of his way to be selfless. Szayel knew the meaning of the word, but he had never felt nor understood its implications. When Szayel had nothing to gain or lose, he didn't bother with trite things like kindness or, sometimes, even civility. He had been called antagonistic and a loner by his peers on no few occasions.

Given all this, it seemed impossible that Nnoitra would go out of his way to delay the inevitable in order to spend time around him.

An obsessed fan. Yes, they possessed the same kind of mentality-one that ignored reality in favor of a fantastical idea of a person.

Ridiculous to think _Nnoitra_ of all people...

Szayel let the cabinet door fall closed. He then stood and washed his hands as he appraised his reflection. Szayel's shoulder didn't hurt anymore. He had done both himself and Nnoitra an enormous favor and patched everything up. Powerful healing agents, designed by him, rendered their bodies whole and new once more. It was the matter of future peril that kept Szayel in the apartment and from murder. He would kill Nnoitra _after_ this had all been resolved. Very hard to go about his daily routine with an entire crime family on his back. Nnoitra, he could handle. However, this was a little too much.

After drying his hair and redressing himself, Szayel ended his brief reprieve and rejoined Nnoitra in the living room. There was no television, no internet. Nothing but the essentials. The food kept here was canned. Szayel occasionally replaced his stock. He would again after all this was over. This wasn't exactly the most healthy or delicious food source, but Szayel was nothing if not a survivor. Nnoitra, however, seemed pleased with this turn of events. He was seated on the mediocre, tan sofa that Szayel had pilfered from its previous owner-the dead no longer had any need for material possessions, after all. Nnoitra dug around inside his can of baked beans as if he had to eat every morsel or perish.

"Now this is some real food," he said, once he saw Szayel approach. If Szayel had actually been listening, he might have been irritated. But as it was, he was still focused on his thoughts. Szayel took a seat in the lounge chair next to the sofa and stared out the window. He didn't even bother with any expression of disdain as Nnoitra plopped his booted feet on the low coffee table.

"Hey, you listening?"

Szayel knew Nnoitra's pattern by now. If he paid the man no attention, he would surely continue the bothersome behavior or try something worse.

Instead of letting Nnoitra have priority and free-reign, Szayel decided to take control.

"What I really want to know is, _why me_?" he asked, resuming their earlier conversation.

Nnoitra scowled. He dropped the empty can of beans on the floor and stared Szayel down as if daring him to say anything about it. The clatter was enough to rankle Szayel's nerves, but he was more interested in Nnoitra's response.

"Always thinking about stupid shit, yanno? I already told you that I was bored."

It wasn't the answer for which Szayel had been looking. But he had doubted he'd receive what he wanted, and here was the proof. Szayel decided to drop the line of questioning for the moment. Instead, he tried a new angle.

"And so you let yourself become a danger to _both_ of us. My, aren't we so capable." After all, if Nnoitra had actually told Szayel about the risk, Szayel would have done something about it. The whole thing was Nnoitra's fault.

Nnoitra sprang to his feet. He grabbed a fistful of Szayel's shirt and would have hauled him up by it had not Szayel aided the motion by standing.

"I've had just about enough of your shit, _Aporro_." Nnoitra's gaze was hard, cold, and very like the one Szayel was leveling right back at him. Szayel grabbed the hand that was holding him.

"I believe that is my line, Jiruga." Szayel's eyes narrowed along with Nnoitra's own.

"This shit is your fault. Fucking stupid enough not to listen to what I say!" Nnoitra's grip tightened and so did Szayel's on his fist.

"And what would that have helped? You wanted to delay the inevitable by a few minutes or hours, hmm?" Szayel began to try to pry his shirt out of Nnoitra's grip. Their gazes met and clashed once more. "Face it, Jiruga. This is all your fault."

Nnoitra's grip relaxed. He let Szayel go, but did not step back.

"Shut up. You don't know a thing so don't pretend like you do."

Szayel's eyes narrowed, but he didn't rise to the bait.

"You should take a shower," he said, his gaze traveling down and then up Nnoitra's soiled body. "For your health." The addition brought a measure of heat to Nnoitra's cool gaze, and he smirked.

"Maybe if you joined me." The leer he leveled at Szayel was likely meant to make him uncomfortable or, worse, might be based on truth.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Szayel's honey sweet smile turned to acid within a moment. "Get moving. We need to think of a plan."

Nnoitra scoffed, and Szayel took the opportunity to brush past him. He picked up the empty can of beans and strode into the kitchen. A minute later and he heard a door slam. Szayel hoped it was evidence of Nnoitra's compliance. The living room was empty when Szayel returned, and he smirked. The round was his, it seemed.

Szayel had just seated himself when there was a knock at the door. He stiffened and then slid his hand in between the sofa cushions. Once he found the handgun he had stashed there, stood with a slow, predatory grace. He inched toward the front door as the sound of water turning on hissed through the room. Szayel scowled at Nnoitra's interference, however indirect it might have been. The old pipes in the building would let anyone know when a person was in the shower. There was no way to circumvent the inevitable now.

Szayel stuck to the shadows as he eased toward the front door. The knock came again, a little more insistent this time.

When Szayel finally got close enough, he peered through the peephole to find a lithe, young blonde man standing on his designer doormat. He was attractive enough that Szayel lifted an eyebrow. However, he didn't let down his guard. There didn't seem to be anyone else around, but that didn't necessarily mean the boy was alone.

Szayel cocked the gun and the man stiffened.

"Lord Nnoitra?"

The added appellation was so absurd that Szayel almost didn't consider the name for a moment. He took a second look at the man, his eyes narrowing. The hair and clothes were different, but the face was familiar. This was Nnoitra's…well, Szayel hesitated to call him a _friend_, but he was probably the closest thing Nnoitra had to one. Szayel had read all about Tesla in Nnoitra's file. That it had taken him a moment to recognize the boy spoke of just how rattled his nerves were. Szayel repressed a sigh.

"What do you want?" he asked, his tone pregnant with menace. After all, it wouldn't do to let on that he was aware of the boy's identity. A minor slipup on Tesla's part could provide him with more information on the situation. For that purpose, he would keep Nnoitra in the dark too.

The boy started.

"Ah-Mr. Aporro? I am Tesla. Can you please tell Lord Nnoitra that I am here?"

Szayel completed the trek back to the bathroom in a few strides and threw the door open. There was an audible bang as Nnoitra hit something in the shower.

"Were you _expecting_ someone, Nnoitra?" Szayel asked, as he waved some of the steam away from his face. Nnoitra drew the curtain aside. If his features hadn't been twisted into a scowl, Szayel would have assumed he had done it as an inappropriate form of flirting. The body was certainly enticing...but Szayel was not here for that. Nor would he ever be. Szayel kept his gaze steadfastly on Nnoitra's face.

"Tesla's here? That little shithead wasn't supposed to come for another hour!" Nnoitra looked down, finally noticing the gun in Szayel's hands. His expression returned to that of his normal seedy grin. "Heh. Guess ya do pack some heat after all."

Szayel rolled his eyes and slammed the door. His shoulders loosened as some of the tension he had been carrying left them. Whatever the case, it seemed that Tesla had found Szayel's hideaway through Nnoitra. They were going to have a little talk later. Oh, yes. But for now, Szayel returned the gun to its proper place and went to answer the door.

Tesla's eyes widened a little as the door opened. He quickly strode inside at Szayel's insistent, "well?"

The shower droned on in the background. Szayel gave the hallway a careful look even though he was well aware that this was Nnoitra's sole true ally-it seemed Szayel was not alone in his distaste for the man, this making Tesla something of an enigma.

He guided the boy into the living room and resumed his seat in the lounge chair. Tesla edged into the room as if expecting something unpleasant. He looked around and then sat down with visible relief. Szayel raised a brow at this. Could it be he was afraid of Nnoitra? The thought almost brought a smirk to his lips, but Szayel restrained himself.

"What do you want?" he asked, and Tesla started.

"I'm here to see Lord Nnoitra," he said, after a brief pause. Szayel rolled his eyes.

"I am _very_ much aware of that," he said, intending to prompt a further reply. To his disappointment, Tesla let the silence linger and forced Szayel to speak again "Well?" Szayel placed the gun in a prominent position in his lap. Tesla's gaze hardened.

"I'm afraid I cannot say." Szayel gained two things from this. One, that Tesla had more of a backbone than was at first apparent. Secondly, that his loyalty to Nnoitra was, indeed, as strong as the file had suggested. Szayel would have to change tactics to gain any useful information out of him. He met Tesla's hardened gaze for a moment, and then smiled. Szayel put the safety on the gun and then tucked it back in between the sofa cushions. There was no use in delaying that inevitability. Besides, Szayel didn't enjoy this kind of confrontation. Far better to employ his inherent skill in acting.

"Forgive me, Tesla. But I had to make sure it was really you. We are in a precarious position, as you may well know." Tesla frowned, but then sank back into the sofa a little bit. One more thing. He needed one more thing. Tesla gave it to him when he winced at his arm contacting the sofa.

"You are hurt," Szayel said. Tesla grimaced, but didn't seem ready to offer a reply. Finally, he spoke.

"It's nothing," he said. The fact that his hand drifted toward his arm as he spoke was a betrayal of those very words. Szayel smiled again as he rose from his seat.

"Come with me," he said, adding, "I insist," to expedite the process.

Szayel sauntered back to the bedroom, trusting that Tesla would follow. Really, he had a subordinate streak that Szayel hoped to capitalize on. Moreover, he didn't have many options. Szayel wasn't worried. He didn't even glance back.

When he reached the bedroom, he sat on the laboratory table and waited. A second later and Tesla joined him. His mouth was a thin line across his face, in contrast to Szayel's smile. Szayel patted the table beside him and after a moment of hesitation, Tesla sat down.

"Let's have a look at that arm, shall we?" Szayel said. He almost made a move to go for Tesla's shirt, but the younger man got to it first. He began to unbutton his brown cotton vest without a word. Szayel watched those deft fingers work and found that he enjoyed it. Tesla slipped the vest off and moved on, fingers flying through buttons so fast that Szayel wondered at his experience with it. A pale and ever-expanding triangle of chest was becoming visible to Szayel's regard. He took it in without altering his smile, although it was now reflecting his appreciation.

As the garment slipped from Tesla's shoulder, he began to see the blackness of a large bruise. When the entirety of the limb became visible, it was revealed to be the outer edge of a large gash, which was likely caused by a close encounter with a bullet.

"My, my." A false yet soothing noise escaped Szayel's throat as he took the arm into his hands. He turned it with great delicacy, examining it from all angles, before letting it drop. Tesla's wince was not lost on him, but he pretended as if he hadn't seen it. Pride, as he understood all too well, was a remarkably tenacious thing.

"It's nothing," Tesla said, his words confirming Szayel's every observation.

Szayel turned to the medicines and salves still lying on top of the dresser. He selected the same bottle he had used on himself earlier, and squirted some into his palm.

"Of course not," he said, as he gestured for the arm again. Tesla obliged, and Szayel took the limb back into his hands. He began to delicately massage the concoction first on the surrounding flesh and then into the prominent laceration. Tesla grimaced, but said nothing. It was remarkable considering the fact that Szayel's treatments were usually much more painful than the wounds themselves. Szayel wondered at his tolerance for pain. He filed this thought away for future, perhaps enjoyable, use. Szayel was so enthralled that he did not notice the fact that the pipes had stopped groaning in the old apartment.

The treatment began to work in earnest, flesh sewing itself together and then closing, the surrounding bruises fading into nothing. Tesla closed his eyes, his mouth still that persistent line across his face, until his flesh became like new again. The only indication of his discomfort was in the stiffening in his muscles as the treatment reached the most painful phase in putting the finishing touches on his healing arm.

Tesla let out a shaky breath, and Szayel began to massage his arm. He worked the muscles to his advantage, only stopping when Tesla opened his eyes again.

"Better?"

"Yes. Thank you." The reply was simple, but as Szayel gazed down, he saw that Tesla's pants were tented. He smirked, leaning in ostensibly to better examine his arm. In reality, he was pondering what other kinds of pain would turn him on.

"Does Nnoitra treat you well, hmm?" he asked, his hand brushing Tesla's side in what should look to any other like an accident. Tesla frowned, and then opened his mouth to answer. Before he could get the words out, a book collided with his face. His head snapped back as Szayel's eyes darted to the doorway from

where it had come.

Nnoitra was standing there naked, dripping on Szayel's hardwood floor, his face twisted into a scowl.

After a moment's recovery, Tesla snapped to attention. He stood.

"Lord Nnoitra, sir, I-"

Nnoitra punched him in the face. Szayel's eyebrows shot up.

"Get the fuck out," he said, his tone low and menacing. Tesla's head immediately jerked back to attention.

"Yes, sir," he said, as he hurried to comply. Tesla darted past Nnoitra to disappear through the door. He shut it behind him, but Szayel barely noticed.

"And you-" Nnoitra stalked toward him like some kind of exotic predator. He gripped Szayel's shirt in his hand and lifted him once more.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?"

Szayel's smirk was as endless as his satisfaction.

"Really, now. It should be obvious." Nnoitra shook him once, making Szayel feel like some kind of rag doll.

"I'm warning ya, Aporro. Don't screw with me."

Szayel punched him in the stomach without preamble. Nnoitra's eyes opened wide as the same happened reflexively with his hand. He dropped Szayel and scowled, one arm clutching his stomach.

Szayel didn't give him a chance to return the favor. Instead, he grabbed a fistful of Nnoitra's hair and hauled him down so he could whisper in his ear.

"_You_ are the one who has been busy overturning my life," he said, his voice a low hiss. Szayel gave Nnoitra a good shake before letting him go. He stepped back and closer to his table of medical supplies as Nnoitra rose with the same predatory grace he had employed before.

"All I been doing is saving your fruity ass," he said and scowled. "Or didn't ya know that by now?"

Szayel scoffed and waved a dismissive hand at the man. He had not gotten any real answers from him before and knew he would not now. All Nnoitra was trying to do was irritate him or perhaps spin a few lies. Szayel wasn't having it.

"Why don't you go tend to your subordinate's needs, hmm?" He moved closer until their bodies were almost touching and smirked up at the man. "Unless, of course, you would prefer I entertain him."

Nnoitra's scowl was the only warning Szayel received before he was pushed back into the wall. Nnoitra stood flush against him, his gaze hard and domineering.

"Stay the fuck away from him, Aporro." Nnoitra's tone was firm and so was his body. Szayel smirked.

"And if I don't?" Szayel was half expecting a cliché or two about ownership to drop from Nnoitra's uneducated maw, but instead the man grunted and dropped him.

"You'll regret it," he said, instead. As Nnoitra moved back, Szayel's gaze slid to the firmness he had felt before. He made a noncommittal noise, but inside he was already planning his next move.

It appeared Szayel had the upper hand in more than one area. As Nnoitra left and slammed the door behind him, Szayel leaned against the wall with his palm pressed to his mouth to suppress the laughter waiting to bubble forth.

With this new knowledge, he knew that Nnoitra would prove very easy to manipulate to his ends. The thought made him smile.

.

Notes: What to say and what to do? I kind of hate this chapter. First time I ever put something out without rereading the whole thing so there may be a few mistakes. Apologies. Long delay was long (Never take maximum hours in your final semester at university, kiddies. Especially if it involves a lot of high academia essay writing. Ugh. Burns you right out!). Here's hoping I can someday bounce back because I am so not there yet. Anyway! Enough of my bitching. Onward and upward HOOO!

There was supposed to be a sex scene this chapter. Didn't happen though. Maybe next time! I'll have you know that this is diverting from my original plan quite a bit. One of the main events, so to speak, was scheduled to happen last chapter. But instead my brain decided that Szayel and Nnoitra's relationship needed to be fleshed out some more. We are still heading toward the same end, but now it might take much longer to get there. Ahaha...wish me luck! Over and out.

Dedicated to Emochromatic and Sakurazukamori6 with a special shoutout to my lovely barukode who is the perfect RP partner. Keeps my Nnoitra/Szayel Aporro fire burning bright :) 50k and rising, darling.


	5. Part I: Chapter 5

.

******The Coronation of Self: Chapter Five**

**By: Ryoko (Lewd Concubine)**

Nnoitra's appearance was deceiving. So were his mannerisms. In fact, Szayel was hard-pressed to think of anything about the man that suggested a deeper cognitive involvement with his surroundings. It was a blow to Szayel's pride that Nnoitra's guise had been strong enough to fool even him. Szayel had been all for giving the man a quick albeit painful death before. Now he would make sure to draw it out for days, weeks, maybe even longer.

Szayel was not a pawn. He was not there to serve Nnoitra's needs by wiping out the leadership of a crime family, thus dispensing with an entire syndicate to the vultures who would pick the remains apart. The fact that Nnoitra was under the Caravaggio's thumb had nothing to do with him.

Nonetheless, Nnoitra had made it his problem. Although he hadn't said it outright, Szayel had come to the conclusion that Nnoitra had done it on purpose. There really was no other explanation for the way he had turned the Caravaggio family against Szayel. Tesla's report had been grim. The Caravaggio wanted to make Szayel their own. And if they couldn't, they would eliminate him. It wasn't just about the money anymore. Not now that they had somehow gotten their hands on some of his unofficial research.

The only reason Szayel had believed the little snit was because he had put some encouragement in his tea before questioning him alone.

Two days later and Szayel was still fuming.

It had occurred to him that he could simply walk away from this. A change of identity would be in order, plus relocation to a different, remote city. But Szayel had built so much here. It would take years to replace all of his equipment-for if he were to do this, it would have to be fast. Then there was the matter of his day job to consider. No, this idea wasn't viable at all. The loss was too great for Szayel to even consider.

He would have to go through with it. Based on that notion, he began to form a plan. Szayel would have to meet with Aaron once more-and wouldn't the man be delighted at this-to get information on the Caravaggio. He would use Nnoitra for the rest. Oh, would he use him. Nnoitra had gotten him into this mess, after all. Szayel didn't intend to have the slightest mercy on him. Tesla would make an efficient enough assistant if nothing else. Szayel would evaluate him later. For now, he needed to gather supplies. A return to his apartment would be necessary. But they would be watching, no doubt.

Szayel paced back and forth across the bedroom floor as he tried to think of a reasonable disguise from the materials he had here. His arms were crossed behind his back and both his brow and lips pinched.

"What're ya thinking?"

Szayel's head jerked up.

"As hard as it must be for you to make simple deductions on your own, I'd appreciate it if you kept quiet about it," Szayel said, as he began pacing again.

Nnoitra scowled, but didn't say anything more. It was unlike him, but Szayel supposed he was desperate enough to allow him a modicum of, dare he say it, respect. A fascinating revelation.

It took Szayel ten more minutes. He stopped mid-stride, and not because Nnoitra was now carving something into the arm of Szayel's chair with one abnormally long nail.

"Nnoitra."

The man looked up from the growing pile of wood flakes decorating his lap.

"Whaddya want?"

Szayel smiled. Sometimes the simplest route was the best. He had thought of numerous and complex solutions to the problem, but there were issues with each.

"You."

Nnoitra lifted a brow as Szayel paused before his dramatic revelation.

"All ya had to do was say so," he replied, his leer returning full force.

Szayel waved a hand.

"Now is not the time for that, you-" Szayel had been about to call him stupid, but he didn't think that would serve his purposes at the moment. He cleared his throat. "We'll use you."

"What?"

Szayel sighed.

"I'll need some things in order to enact this plan, you realize. I must return to my lab." After some deliberation, Szayel had decided that it was far too inefficient to bring all the materials he needed to this location. Much better simply to hole up in his laboratory as he had done so many times before. There was, of course, the additional impetus of Nnoitra's incompetence fresh in his mind. However many directions he gave the man, Szayel was certain one or ten critical items would be missing when he returned with the load. Moreover, there was the biometric scanner for the man to get past in order to obtain access in the first place. While Nnoitra appeared to have _some_ talent in other areas, Szayel very much doubted there was a latent interest in technology just waiting to spring to convenient life behind that bovine gaze of his.

Nnoitra looked at him like he was the idiot here. He waved his hand in front of Szayel's face as if to wake him up.

"Know you're insane, but didn't figure you were this stupid. They'll be-"

"Watching. I know. That's where you come in. Dare I hope you're capable of a simple distraction? Unless, perhaps, it's too much for you?"

Nnoitra narrowed his eyes and glared.

"I got this and ya know it," he said. Szayel smirked in return.

"I'm glad to hear you'll be of some use." He turned and motioned for Tesla to join them. "I trust you'll want to be of assistance." Tesla nodded, his head flopping above the nervous hands that he swiped against his sides. There was a faint blush on his cheeks from either embarrassment or eagerness. Szayel couldn't tell which. Most likely, it was a combination of the two.

"Very good, then. Make your preparations. We'll leave as soon as you're finished." He turned heel and exited the room before any protests could be made. Let those two figure it out. He had more important things to occupy his attention. Already, Szayel was mapping out the route in his mind. All prior assessments were gone over once more. When he finally felt satisfied, he returned to the room. It had been some minutes, yet the two were still talking. They ceased upon noticing Szayel. Nnoitra stood from the chair. Wood shavings fell in a small shower over his combat boots.

"Ready?"

"Let's get this shit over with."

Half an hour later and they were crouched in an alleyway next to Szayel's apartment building. In a few minutes, it would begin. Nnoitra had several firearms at the ready. He handed one of these off to Tesla and pulled the ski mask down over his grimace. Tesla mirrored the movement. Their black polyester jackets-not something Szayel would ever have kept around, but a recent addition courtesy of Nnoitra-swished as their bodies came into contact in the cramped space.

The plan was for them to fire several shots to divert all relevant attention and personnel to their location while Szayel used the fire escape to climb to his floor. It was a very good thing he had had a second alarm panel installed outside his window for just such an occasion. Szayel really had to congratulate himself on his amazing foresight.

Nnoitra nodded at him, and then they were all off. Szayel began climbing with fierce abandon. His steps were loud on the metal, but then so was the surrounding traffic. That had been part of his plan too. When he was half-way to his floor, he heard the shots and subsequent shouts. Szayel pushed himself, pushed his heaving chest and burning legs harder. He wasn't yet winded, but very close. By the time he reached his floor, he heard the distant whine of a siren. It grew closer as he punched in the code. The bulletproof glass swung inward as it had been designed to do in this event and he stepped inside to his ruined belongings, once glimpsed through the glass and now in stark and painful reality under his feet.

Szayel winced over the shredded furniture, the once priceless vases, now smashed. Papers were strewn everywhere. Not even the carpet was spared. Szayel's steps faltered. They had clearly been clever enough to get past the alarm system. Could they have then rewired it so that any access would alert them? What, then, about the entrance to his laboratory? Had they found it? Szayel cursed himself for not thinking about it first. However, there was no time. Already the siren was closer, closer. He closed the window and reset the system, then proceeded through his bedroom and into the bathroom. The sink lay in two pieces on the floor. This was complimented by the glass from the shower door. Szayel stepped over it and pressed his palm to the appropriate tile.

The mirror slid away to reveal pristine black. Szayel didn't pause, but went for the second scanner. Only when the familiar and untarnished view of his laboratory greeted his eyes did he allow himself a modicum of satisfaction and relief. Szayel sagged against the wall as the doors shut behind him. He was still breathing hard, but that was a small price to pay. Home, he was home. The purpose didn't matter to him in this moment.

Szayel hauled himself up onto his examination table and collapsed. He clutched it as one would a lover and caressed it with soft, slow hands. Szayel rolled onto his back when his heart rate had returned to normal. His nostrils flared. He sighed, closed his eyes, and was soon fast asleep.

Hours later, he awoke to a beeping noise. There it was again. Szayel sat up and lifted his glasses to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He shifted, his legs hanging over the side of the table now, and stared at the red light blinking next to one of his monitors.

A call. He had an incoming call. Szayel answered at once. Nnoitra's image splashed across the screen and Szayel winced.

"-the hell have you been?"

Szayel paused, sighed.

"As gratified as I am by your concern, surely you did not doubt my success."

"That's not the point, asshole! You were supposed to call." Nnoitra's image wavered as he shook the phone.

Szayel smirked and stifled the yawn waiting in his throat.

"I've been quite busy."

The feed stilled. Nnoitra stared, his eyes gradually narrowing. Then, suddenly, he grinned. This was followed by a chuckle.

"Sure ya have."

"What?"

Nnoitra was still chuckling. This tapered off, though, to leave nothing but those enormous teeth flashing at him.

"That's why you're hair's all messed up, huh? Weren't sleeping or anything. Right?"

Szayel jerked back. His hand was on his head in a flash. Sure enough, there were some-just a few, he assured himself-strands out of place.

"I haven't-"

"So ya are human after all." Nnoitra snorted. Szayel felt that telltale heat rising to his face. No, no, he couldn't be embarrassed. Not like this. Not in front of a cretin like Nnoitra. He scowled, but it was too late. Nnoitra's chuckle gained a renewed strength.

"Never knew you had it in ya, Granzy." Now that, Szayel absolutely couldn't abide.

"Shut up!" The words came out in a screech that almost made him wince. He moved to cut the feed, but before he couldn't Nnoitra got in one more parting shot.

"Matches your hair." He looked like he was going to say more, but it was too late. Szayel had already ended the call. His fist banged on the control panel, causing the entire thing to vibrate.

"I'll kill him." But even this threat, uttered too often as of late, didn't make him feel any better. How was it that he had been forced into this unpalatable arrangement to begin with? No, no, he wasn't going to think about that. Such would only bring on more humiliation and that was something he absolutely didn't need at the moment. His cheeks burned. How he hated Nnoitra for causing him to react like this. Nevermind the fact he had been seen by someone when his hair was in less than perfect condition. That in itself would have been reason enough for his hatred. No, this was something more profound. Something Szayel wasn't quite ready to face. He whipped around and rolled up his figurative sleeves. Work would distract him, save him.

And it did. Hours went by without Szayel noticing as he engrossed himself in his plans, his research. He had already had a viable means of transmitting the poison. All he needed was to alter a few things. That, and samples of the victim's DNA so that he could attune it to these particular persons and no one else.

Szayel called Tesla and set everything up. He would deliver the samples, in person, once he acquired them. Szayel gave him the code for the alarm and a few, very specific warnings against tampering with the samples. He had nothing to do but wait now.

After some deliberation, Szayel decided against calling Aaron. He had no need of his services at present, and was mostly unwilling to provide the requisite payment. Not with his mind spinning as it was. But, then, perhaps that would be just what he needed. Still, Aaron had no idea of what had happened and would likely draw attention to himself and thusly the fact that Szayel had returned to his former haunt. The idea was ill advised at best. Not worth it. Much as he might have craved a distraction, this could not be it.

With such established, Szayel turned instead to his primary obsession. He had disposed of Peter Worthington's remains, but had not had the time to analyze the data he had obtained from this particular specimen. Szayel pulled it up now. He sat and scanned the numbers, the figures, as they scrolled by on the screen. Occasionally, he would fixate on a line of text for minutes at a time. He compiled hastily scribbled notes on a pad kept to his right hand side. It occurred to Szayel, as he went, that this experience had truly been valuable to him as a tool for focus. His concentration left nothing to be desired, but now he was almost mad in his intensity.

When all was said and done, he looked at the clock and found that fourteen hours had gone by. Szayel leaned back and stretched. His stomach growled, but he ignored it in favor of saving his progress. Then he headed for his specimen table with intent this time. Once again, he was soon fast asleep.

A week later and there was little to nothing to distract him from his waiting. Szayel knew it wouldn't be easy for Tesla to obtain samples from the higher ups in the Caravaggio family clan, but that didn't make him any less bored with his circumstances. Another week and he began to grow desperate for something else to do. He had already run through all the new data he had acquired, checked and rechecked it. There was nothing left for him to do. Unless he acquired a new specimen, that was. But Szayel knew it wasn't going to happen. He couldn't leave-hadn't left-his laboratory since he arrived. The cameras around his apartment had shown him it was a futile effort. Everything of his had been destroyed or mutilated in some way. Presumably, they had grown frustrated in their search for his laboratory, his notes, and had gotten creative. Not even the ceiling was spared. Szayel hadn't noticed it before, but there were several bullet holes marring it here and there. Frustration struck again. Not that Szayel could blame them. He well knew he was a valuable asset to whomever he chose to align himself with-as Nnoitra would soon find. Whenever Tesla showed up with those samples. He had kept in contact, of course. However, just hearing about the minute successes had left him restless. There was still so much to do. How badly he wanted to clean everything up and begin to replace it all. But that would leave evidence of his knowing and he couldn't have that. Thus far, as he had been informed, the Caravaggio were unaware of his presence here. He didn't intend to change that. Yet still, he needed something to do.

With this in mind, Szayel placed a careful call to Aaron and explained some of the situation. Perhaps it was unwise, but he was at a loss for what else to do. At least this way Aaron might bring him something of value to study. Yes, something like that. Or perhaps it would give a valid excuse for his cleaning up the apartment. Either way, it would be beneficial. Worth the risk.

Aaron didn't take long to get there. Szayel had him knock, and then pretend to use a key while he let him in. Only then did he emerge and come to greet the wide-eyed man.

"You really weren't kidding," he said.

Szayel shook his head.

"Did you ever know me to?"

At that, Aaron mirrored the motion. His usual grin was absent, replaced by a wry smile.

"No, but I'd hoped you'd started. This place is trashed." He put a hand on Szayel's shoulder and he let him. "I'm really sorry."

Szayel sighed, his eyelids fluttering closed for a moment.

"It's not your fault, Aaron. Besides," and here he was trying to make light of things only to make himself feel better, "this gives me the opportunity to remodel. I'll enjoy it."

"If you say so." Now Aaron held out the cloth bag filled with Szayel's favorite foods. Everything was fresh. "I figured you could use a couple of things."

Szayel, who had been eyeing said bag since he saw it, smiled and took it.

"Generous as always. Thank you." He used the handles to set the bag down at his feet. Aaron then took Szayel into his arms as if to soothe him, although they both knew it was more than that. At least Szayel thought so, until he heard the words whispered against his ear.

"I was worried, you know. I thought you'd call, but you didn't. Then I began to wonder." He confessed that he'd driven by several times. Szayel stiffened but tried to hide it. As familiar and wonderful as Aaron was, he still wasn't-

But then Aaron's lips were on his and Szayel let himself enjoy the necessary distraction. He now wrapped his arms around Aaron in return. The man groaned into his mouth, his hands roaming Szayel's sides in that hungry, proprietary way that Szayel both loved and hated. Aaron backed him into the wall on the foyer and he couldn't find it in himself to object. His lips dropped to Szayel's neck as the chorus of their breathing filled the space. The harsh echo of Aaron's grunt as Szayel palmed him through is pants sent a shiver down his spine.

The man redoubled his efforts even while shedding his coat and the forcing his hands under Szayel's shirt. Szayel gripped the wall and trembled as Aaron lifted it, his tongue assaulting every bit of flesh that was exposed to him. He finally settled on Szayel's nipple and sucked on it. Aaron rolled it between his teeth-teeth that Szayel had always found simultaneously arousing and horrifying-and Szayel's cry rang out. He arched into the touch even as Aaron fumbled with Szayel's pants. He stroked Szayel's erection when it was free, causing an increase in the volume and intensity of his cries. Then his pants, his sleek, white pants with their trendy black stripes on one side, were on the floor and he was wrapping a leg around the man. Aaron groaned again. It was loud in his ear. Szayel leaned back enough for Aaron to unzip his pants and pull his cock out through this hole. There was no time to undo the belt, no time even to prepare. Aaron positioned himself against Szayel's entrance with the same desperate urgency that was thrumming through Szayel's veins. Szayel relaxed himself as best he could, and was then a willing accomplice to the agony of the intrusion.

Szayel's head flew back to hit the wall, yet the combined pain only spurred both of them on, it seemed. Aaron lifted him, and he wrapped his legs around the man. Szayel hung on tight as Aaron pounded him into the unyielding wall. The man's mouth was ceaseless in its movement over Szayel's body. It left every place he touched raw and throbbing. Welts bloomed here and there from the pressure of Aaron's nails as he gripped him. Finally, Szayel's cries grew so loud and so lewd that Aaron stuffed his fingers into Szayel's mouth. Szayel took them in and sucked, causing Aaron to groan against the skin of his collarbone. He pounded into Szayel with renewed fervor.

Szayel's entire body ached, yet the pleasure was intense enough to wipe out every angry protest from his aching muscles, his abused flesh. Before he could reach completion, Aaron ripped him away from the wall with a feral sounding growl. He banged him into the other wall, and then they were in the living room. Aaron dropped them both to the floor amidst the detritus and hefted Szayel's legs over his shoulders as he fucked him.

A shard of glass dug into his arm, but he hardly noticed. His entire focus was on the cock pistoning in and out of his body. Szayel's own bounced against his stomach with each thrust, so brutal they were. He slid against the floor, against the papers and the glass, and knew he would hurt later. But it didn't matter. He had what he needed to cure his ills in his laboratory. This, right now, was for his sanity.

When it was over Aaron collapsed on top of him and Szayel felt the myriad of small aches and pains with renewed discomfort. Aaron was already placing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on his exposed chest in preparation for another round of foreplay at least, while they waited for the possibility of an actual round two. Szayel, for his part, had yet to catch his breath. His mind was pleasantly blank; he was relieved of all his intellectual burdens for the time being. This was, perhaps, his actual motivation in always seeking companionship. Beyond the obvious biological need, of course.

Later, much later, when they were both fully satiated, Szayel reclined with his head propped up on a shredded couch cushion. There was fluff in his hair from it, but for once Szayel didn't mind. Aaron's eyes traced the curves of his body and he reveled in the attention. Szayel knew he was a prize and was always gratified when others recognized that fact.

"You're bleeding," he said.

Szayel didn't bother to look.

"And whose fault do you suppose that is?"

The crooked grin was back. Aaron leaned in and licked the blood away to Szayel's raised eyebrows. Here was a man truly without fear. Nevertheless, they were still on familiar ground.

"You're crazy, you know that?"

"Certifiably insane, but look who's talking," Aaron said. His chuckle vibrated along Szayel's stomach.

Szayel rolled his eyes. He rose and made them food on his stove, which had apparently been too much trouble for the unintelligent intruders to break. A twist here and a jab there, plus one reconnected wire, and he had it working again.

Later, after Aaron was gone, Szayel would have to deal with Nnoitra and with the task at hand once more. He only hoped Tesla would pull through sooner than later so that he could put all this behind him. For now, though, he was content with the mundane.

.

Long time no see, once more! I blame this on my tumultuous life post-university. Happy and blessed now to find a full time job _with __benefits_, no less (And I love, love, love it! Besides writing, I have truly found my more pragmatic calling)! Also very happy to report I wrote almost all of this in a fugue of inspiration today. I had been struggling with what should happen next because, quite frankly, I am good at coming up with huge ideas but bad at translating them into scenes. I think I achieved a measure of success, but ymmv. Before I ramble too much, I'll just state that the main pairing of the story is still Nnoitra/Szayel Aporro and that it will be achieved in time. I like a slow burn for my romances, an itch that builds and _infuriates _until ultimate satisfaction for all is achieved. With epic themes surrounding it to make it more interesting. I think I'm fairly on track for it. Lawd knows I love the way these two fuck with each other :D

As always, dedicated to Emochromatic and Sakurazukamori6 for their unflagging support. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, watched, and faved. It's a joy to get these notifs in my inbox. I treasure each one even if I don't reply. Thank you, and Happy Valentine's Day!


	6. Part I: Chapter 6

**The Coronation of Self: Chapter Six**

**By: Ryoko (Lewd Concubine)**

It was another two weeks before Tesla informed him that the task was complete. During that time, Szayel put in for sick leave from his day job-it would be easy enough to forge a few medical papers when he went back. He also took the time, using his current findings on memory, to attempt building the machine that was the end goal of all of his research. Szayel now possessed a working prototype, which looked much like a silver bowl, to be placed upon the head for the retrieval of memories. His equipment was all set up, but he had yet to test it. Szayel was certainly not going to be the guinea pig. He would never dream of interfering with his wonderful mind. At least, not with a prototype. When things were more certain, he would, perhaps, indulge himself.

Szayel was tinkering with the prototype when his alarms alerted him to Tesla's arrival. This, too, had been carefully planned to keep outside attention to a minimum. Szayel let him in as he had with Aaron, and waited for the knock. When it came, he opened the doors to his inner sanctum and admitted-

Nnoitra.

"What are you doing here?"

Nnoitra was dressed in black, grey, and white camo pants and had on his customary white tank-top and black combat boots. A silver chain with matching lighter hung around his neck, and over his shoulder was a large black duffel bag. He cracked a grin as Szayel stepped back to admit him.

"Whaddya think? It was getting pretty fucking boring doing all that waiting so I thought I'd come get a piece."

"Nnoitra…" Szayel pushed his glasses up on his nose in an exaggerated gesture meant to convey his annoyance. "I might be helping you right now, but that doesn't mean-"

"Relax, Granzy," he said, as he muscled his way past Szayel and into the lab. Szayel was anything but. "So, this is where you do all your freaky shit, huh?" His gaze swept over the room, taking in the specimen tanks, the examination table, the monitors with their scrolling numbers. It was a different kind of violation and one that had Szayel holding his hand over his mouth to keep back the nausea. This was Ihis/I space. He had prepared himself to admit Tesla-perhaps wiping his memory of the event later-but Nnoitra was a different story.

"Give me that," he said, finally. Szayel reached for the duffel. "And don't touch anything."

Nnoitra handed it over, but that was only so he could immediately disregard what Szayel just said. He ran his hand over the examination table with a smile that could only be described as bloodthirsty. If Szayel possessed any less faith in his own abilities and complete dominion here, he might be afraid.

He grabbed the offending hand, his eyes narrowed.

"I said don't. touch."

Nnoitra's gaze wandered down to where Szayel gripped him.

"You sure you wanna do that?" His grin was replaced by a smile that, no doubt, made the blood of his enemies run cold.

Szayel merely tightened his grip.

"You will respect my wishes if you want my help." He twisted his fingers in a move that would leave Nnoitra with a burning reminder of the touch for hours. "Touch things you don't understand and you could ruin everything for us."

Nnoitra's arm tensed, but Szayel didn't let go. The silence thickened between them, yet still he didn't move. Finally, with a resounding roll of his eyes, Nnoitra shook Szayel's arm off. He then plopped himself down on the table and laid back.

"Tch. You're such a tightass." Nnoitra began to pick his teeth with one of his long nails. A sigh threatened in Szayel's throat, but he swallowed it in favor of taking the duffel bag with him back to the table to examine.

Nnoitra didn't so much as touch his arm the entire time. This sent the same unruly thoughts through Szayel's mind about the man's tolerance for pain. How high was it, exactly? Part of him yearned to find out. The larger and wiser part simply wanted Nnoitra to remain silent.

No such luck.

"You _will_ have to use someone other than Tesla, you know."

Szayel paused in digging through the bag more from the apparent lack of vulgate in Nnoitra's speech than anything the man said.

"You have another candidate in mind?" Szayel glanced sidelong at him.

Nnoitra grinned and jabbed a thumb square in his chest. Szayel opened his mouth then closed it. For a nanosecond, he thought Nnoitra an idiot for the idea. But then it occurred to him that this might be exactly what they needed.

"It's not a bad idea," he said.

Nnoitra's grin soured.

"That all you got to say? _Not bad_?"

"As I said-"

"This shit's gold and you know it. They'll want to see me pretty bad if I tell them I have you cornered and then…" That same cold smile that would chill a normal person's blood spread across Nnoitra's face. Szayel's eyelids fluttered once as the same sort of smile turned his expression to ice.

Amazing how a simple moment of solidarity could lift his spirits. His poison would be tested soon. The results, and all data, would be his. And then he would be free of Nnoitra, free to kill him. Though with the gift dropped so generously in his lap, Szayel was feeling rather lenient about the matter. He'd kill him quickly. Maybe.

Three hours and seven arguments later and the pair retired-Szayel for a break and Nnoitra for the night. At least, that was what Szayel thought until a beeping sound woke him up. Nnoitra had the prototype affixed to his head and was staring at the screen where a memory was playing out.

Tesla stared up at Nnoitra. His hair was disheveled as if he'd just woken up or fallen or-there came Nnoitra's hand to rest on his subordinate's head.

"Why are you always so interested in that man?" Tesla asked. There was a pause. Nnoitra's fingers stilled. Silence stretched between the two.

"Same reason I picked you up."

Szayel expected Tesla to be jealous. Instead, he beamed.

Then Nnoitra backhanded him across the face.

The memory faded with several beeps from the computer. It was replaced with something very familiar: the theater as seen from a member of the audience's point of view at the back of the house. There were many shadowy figures in between the viewer and the stage. Women's dresses glittered here and there in the low light. But what captured Szayel was seeing himself perform. A rose flew on stage at his feet, but Szayel didn't pick it up. No, he remembered this night. Remembered that particular rose. He would feint toward it several times before finally picking it up for use as a prop in a scene which required the same. But all that would come later.

For now, Szayel watched himself sing out lines to his beloved onstage. Although there were other, sometimes more flashy, characters flouncing around on stage, the memory never shifted to any of them.

Truly, this was a man with a singular focus. A shudder passed through him, although Szayel couldn't tell if it was good or bad nor did he want to question it.

"If you wanted to be my guinea pig, you should just have said so."

Nnoitra jumped what seemed like a foot into the air.

"Thought you were asleep." His tone was not amicable. He jerked the prototype off his head and slammed it down on the counter.

"A little too late for tantrums, don't you think?" Szayel smirked to himself as he resettled his legs on the his makeshift bed. "It's all on file now." The computer beeped to let Szayel know the connection had been severed.

Nnoitra just scowled at him.

"Whatever. Nothing you don't already know anyway." Shadows covered the side of his face, making him appear to have only one eye.

A disturbing feeling of familiarity settled in Szayel's stomach and stole the blood from his face and down to somewhere he didn't want to think about at the moment. He inhaled quickly and shook his head. By that time Nnoitra had moved into a patch of light and the sensation was gone. Szayel cleared his throat.

"We've been over this before." Szayel gave him his best unimpressed look.

"Yeah and lookit what a good listener I am. Haven't touched a damn thing all day." All day wasn't nearly enough, but it was _something_. Perhaps Nnoitra was capable of some very basic improvement of character after all.

Szayel relaxed. Whatever his motivation, Nnoitra had just given him some valuable data, and by testing out his prototype, no less. Szayel could move forward with the device now. It was for this reason alone that Szayel decided to go easy on him. For the moment.

"You should get some rest, Nnoitra."

Nnoitra's eyebrow jacked up so high that Szayel thought it might disappear into his hair.

"You're really not going to give me shit for this?" He stared, but then a slow smirk stole across his face.

Give him an inch...

"_Go to bed_."

Szayel rolled over without a word. To his credit, Nnoitra didn't interrupt him except with a chuckle. Szayel hated him just a little less.

The next day came and went without any talk of what had happened. Szayel spent the vast majority of his time tweaking the poison to respond only to relevant individuals. The remainder he devoted to upgrading his prototype, for as much as he wanted Nnoitra gone and this whole thing over with, there was no way he could pass up this chance.

Szayel remained engrossed enough in his work that he almost managed to forget the fact that Nnoitra was there at all.

"Shit, I get why you're so crazy now. You never take a break."

Szayel's head jerked up from where he stared into the microscope and he frowned. Nnoitra looked at him over the top of one of the porn magazines he brought along. As had become customary, Szayel turned away instead of acknowledging him. His train of thought was interrupted, but if he concentrated he might be able to resume where he left off.

The rustling of papers intruded as Nnoitra slapped the magazine down on the table beside the chair where he was sitting. The creaking that followed announced the fact that he stood up.

Szayel sat back and rubbed his eyes.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't keep interrupting me." Although he felt weary, Szayel kept his tone clipped and cold. Even so, the footsteps heading in his direction did not stop.

He opened his mouth to tell Nnoitra off but then a long hand dropped onto his shoulder. Szayel's head snapped to the side so fast that he was sure he'd have a crick in it later. Nnoitra didn't acknowledge his glare, if he even noticed it.

"You should take a break."

What Szayel really wanted a break from were the excessive liberties Nnoitra always took with him. His eyebrow twitched higher as he turned his baleful stare on the hand compromising his shoulder.

Nnoitra gave it a little squeeze. This mockery of affection rankled Szayel's even more. He stood, fully prepared to give the man the verbal evisceration he so deserved when the computer popped up with an alert. Someone was at his front door.

Szayel brushed Nnoitra's hand off and went to see who it was.

His suspicions were confirmed in the form of Tesla. He stood so straight that the pose was made awkward. In his arms, another duffel bag.

Szayel turned to look at Nnoitra. The man's grin was wide enough to be grotesque.

"Is there even a point in asking what you think you're doing?"

Szayel brushed past Nnoitra before he could respond. He headed for the door.

"Don't be such a hardass! When's the last time you ate, anyway?"

Szayel's hand paused just above the button that would open the front door. He looked back at Nnoitra again, this time with a little less fire in his eyes.

"I can take care of myself." True, he hadn't wasted time eating that day, but that was because there were more pressing concerns. Szayel usually took impeccable care of his body-it was the only way to maintain his intelligence and beauty, after all.

"Tch. Like hell," was all the man said.

Szayel pressed the button. Tesla was in and out much quicker than Szayel expected. Even though it was clear he wanted to stay with Nnoitra, the man still sent him off like it was nothing.

Such a curious relationship. If Szayel possessed the time, he might find it interesting to study their dynamic. Certainly, that would make it much easier for him to manipulate Nnoitra. But all of this would be over soon so there was really no point to it. Still, it was an interesting idea.

Nnoitra riffled through the duffel until he came out with several bags of lettuce and a can of mixed vegetables. He offered these up with a toothy grin. Szayel didn't know what he expected, but it was not this.

"Thank you," he said, after a pause. He would never have bought any of this inferior produce, but if this was Nnoitra doing his best he would accept it.

"Well, go on. Eat." Nnoitra shoved the bags in his hand while he spoke. Then he drew out a can of condensed mushroom soup, which he proceeded to pop open. A spoon appeared out of the bag next and before Szayel could utter one word of protest at the sheer amount of sodium in that first bite alone, Nnoitra had it in his mouth.

Szayel shuddered and turned away. If Nnoitra noticed, he didn't say anything. Instead, the incorrigible man smacked his lips and then licked them. Szayel left to wash the lettuce and drain the vegetables. By the time he returned, half the can was gone.

Szayel set the two bowls he prepared down and took a seat across from Nnoitra. He said nothing, thinking Nnoitra would refute whatever overture he made. How wrong he was.

Within the space of a breath, Nnoitra downed the rest of his condensed, processed fats and oils and tossed the empty can back into the bag. Szayel was vaguely grateful the man had the modicum of foresight necessary to throw it there and not on his immaculate floor. Unusual from what he knew of Nnoitra, but he would take it.

Nnoitra lifted the bowl to his nose and smelled. He made a face, and Szayel almost smacked his own.

"Suppose it won't kill me." Nnoitra narrowed his eyes at the perceived threat the vegetables represented.

"The opposite, in fact," Szayel said. For though it was low quality to be sure, this was definitely much better for the man than what he just consumed.

Szayel settled himself on the stool and ate. He expected more complaints from Nnoitra, but there was nothing of the kind. A grimace here and there, but the man kept strangely quiet. Like this, Szayel almost didn't mind him though he expected Nnoitra to blow it at any moment with a comment on the nature, color, or perhaps shape of the edibles presented.

By the time they were both through, Szayel was certain there had to be a god, for nothing else could explain Nnoitra's change from an abomination into an almost...tolerable human being.

.

From violation to breaking bread together in just a few days, but then that's what I think of these two :D I wonder if Szayel is just as confusing to Nnoitra as vice versa. Hmm...

Sorry for the wait and the short chapter. Apparently I am not very good at time management. Also full time eats the creative soul. Why, yes, I _am_ posting this on my lunch break!

Dedicated as always to Emochromatic and Sakurazukamori6, both of whom I wish I got to talk to more. Love you babes!


	7. Part I: Chapter 7

.

**The Coronation of Self: Chapter Seven**

**By: Ryoko (Lewd Concubine)**

Szayel awoke covered in sweat and absolutely certain he was losing his mind. Or, at the very least, that Nnoitra was a terrible influence on him. He cast his gaze across the darkened laboratory at the man's sleeping form and prayed he wouldn't wake up. Szayel took deep, calming breaths and attempted to still his thundering heart.

He wiped a hand across his face and tried to push the dream out of his mind with little success. Unlike most dreams, which faded with time, this one was only becoming clearer. The whole thing was unusual and part of the reason for the slight tremor in his limbs.

The vast majority of the reason slept on, blissfully unaware. Szayel glared at the man before he sighed and sat up to redirect his energy. Szayel didn't think he could take Nnoitra's scrutiny or his often callous yet sometimes perceptive remarks right now. Not after that.

Szayel's mind drifted back to the dream despite himself. He gritted his teeth and shook his head to clear it. All in vain. The intensity of the dream stole any desire for sleep from him if such were even possible at this point. No, he was definitely awake.

Szayel glanced at the clock almost belatedly. Three forty a.m. Perfect. Just perfect. Szayel stilled his shaking hands by placing them palm down on his thighs. The dream came into sharper focus. He recalled with certainty Nnoitra's ridiculous height and his even more absurd outfit. Szayel had never seen a hood that huge or spoon-like. It was something not even the most avant garde performer would consider. Well, maybe Lady Gaga. But surely nobody like Nnoitra. The thought of how absolutely ridiculous the man looked in it made Szayel stifle a laugh. However, this quickly soured. It was so much easier to concentrate on something like that instead of considering what exactly the two did in his dream and the implications of such for their current situation.

While it was true that Szayel found Nnoitra physically attractive, he had no intention of sleeping with the man despite whatever absurdities his subconscious was trying to force on him. In spite of his firm conviction, Szayel's body didn't seem to agree.

Szayel gazed down at his pants and grimaced.

"Wonderful." He couldn't help the whispered word or the exasperated sigh that followed.

He would need to take care of this, and soon. But first Szayel found himself drifting over to where Nnoitra slept. He felt like a marionette pulled along by invisible strings, yet he couldn't help himself. Once again, darkness shrouded one of the man's eyes except this time Szayel had the dream to think of instead of mere deja vu. His eyepatch was made of shadows here, but Szayel keenly felt the resemblance all the way down to his groin.

He stared for some time.

Temporary insanity. It had to be. That would explain this and his next action.

Szayel sat down and affixed the prototype on his head. He kept the sound turned down and the screen small.

Szayel distrusted his own senses, but he had full faith in his science. This would show him the truth for his machine did not display dreams, only memories. It didn't work like that to begin with, but Szayel fixed that bug long ago and tested it enough that it was no longer even a possibility.

Szayel waited with a mix of trepidation and eager anticipation as his thoughts drifted toward the dream once more. At first, nothing happened. But then, the screen flickered to reality shattering life.

There was Nnoitra in that ridiculous outfit.

"'Ey, Granz. Long time no see."

"What do you want, Jiruga?" he heard himself answer after a moment. "I'm quite busy, as you can see."

The view turned to an all too familiar lab table where a specimen was beautifully laid out with its ribs pulled back to expose its still beating heart, then returned to Nnoitra.

The man offered his blood chilling grin and Szayel's stomach dropped even as his cheeks warmed. He knew what would come next.

Nnoitra reached into the specimen's chest cavity and tore its heart out. The dream Szayel uttered a word of protest but it was too late. Nnoitra brought the still sluggishly pumping organ to his mouth and devoured it. His obscenely long teeth tore into the muscle. Red dripped down his chin and all over his pristine white clothes.

Szayel had never been more turned on in his life, and it seemed his dream self agreed. Szayel saw his arm shoot out and grab Nnoitra's clothes to drag his face down to eye level. The view zoomed in until the screen filled with those red stained lips and then Szayel heard himself whisper.

"You are quite the freak."

The expected reply of "look who's talking" came, but not from the screen.

Szayel jumped a foot in the air, the prototype sailing off his head to clatter on the nearby counter.

Nnoitra stood right behind him, a wry grin stretching his thin lips.

"How did you-" Szayel stopped, pursed his lips.

"I've had that one too. Remember what happens next? The sex?" Nnoitra was strangely still despite the topic matter. He didn't leer, but instead appeared utterly calm and almost _resigned_.

Szayel had to get out of there. It was all much too strange and he couldn't wrap his mind around any of it because it simply wasn't possible. There was a reasonable explanation for everything. He just had yet to find it. But he would. Soon. For right now, though, he needed to get away from this man and the poisonous notions he'd implanted into his brain.

Szayel stood and made his way past the specter standing so close to him. For once, he didn't say anything. He was almost to the door when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Octava Espada."

Szayel stiffened for more than one reason. The name was a familiar stone in his stomach, but one he couldn't quite comprehend. It was all there just beyond his reach.

"Octava…" he said the word, tasted it, and felt its familiarity, how right it was.

"I tried to fuckin'-to tell you…" The hand on Szayel's shoulder tightened, but he found he didn't mind nearly as much as a few moments ago. Not even when the man's other hand joined the first. It was too unexpected. Too gentle for him and especially for Nnoitra.

Slowly, the ice left his muscles. Slowly, he relaxed.

"Well?"

An ordinary man might have remembered the physical violation and held it against his victimizer. Szayel Aporro had never been so mundane as that, at least not in this case.

Nothing about this felt wrong. Instead, his world finally seemed to be complete. It was as if he'd always been lacking something and had become aware of it only now that he didn't want for it anymore.

"You're a terrible person," Szayel said.

Nnoitra turned him without resistance and they met each other's eyes.

"So are you. Been remembering more the longer we're together. Much more." He leaned in and ran his tongue over Szayel's lips and then kissed him.

Later he might question everything. For now, Szayel Aporro Granz, theater superstar and consummate scientist, was certain about it all.

Their kiss was deceptively gentle, but only for a moment. Soon, it turned more passionate and Nnoitra propelled him backwards until he hit the wall. Those lips worked their way down his neck to his collarbone where Nnoitra bit him. It was much harder than anything even Aaron would have done. Warmth ran down Szayel's chest. He remembered Nnoitra's red lips from his dream and gasped.

Nnoitra grabbed Szayel's shirt and pulled until it tore right down the middle before he leaned in. Szayel fisted the man's hair in his hand and held him there while he ravaged Szayel's chest with that dangerous mouth. He tore off Nnoitra's shirt with the other. This exposed pale skin to both his eyes and nails. Nnoitra's torso was soon criss-crossed with red lines where Szayel scratched him. The man hissed out a breath and crushed Szayel against the wall. He lifted Szayel's leg and held it while he ground their bodies together.

Szayel shuddered and gasped at this and then when the man jerked his pants and underwear off in the same brusque manner. Nnoitra palmed Szayel's erection, causing him to moan. This was swift, fleeting. The next second Nnoitra was shoving two fingers inside without preamble.

It made Szayel's back arch off the wall in pain and pleasure. His body pressed into Nnoitra's but then his eyes snapped back to sharp clarity.

"No," he said, and pushed Nnoitra backwards. The man's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest, but then Szayel was on him. He brought their mouths together in a fierce, cutting kiss as he continued to propel Nnoitra backwards. Nnoitra's legs hit the laboratory table behind him and he toppled back onto it. There was a resounding clang where he hit his head. Nnoitra cursed and reached for him, but Szayel slid out of reach before coming back to undo the man's belt and yank off his pants.

Szayel smiled at the lack of underwear before he climbed on top of him. Nnoitra's legs dangled off the edge of the table but not his pelvis. In his frenzy, Szayel abandoned all care for both himself and his partner. He spit in his hand and coated Nnoitra's cock with it, but this was all he did before sinking down onto him.

Both he and Nnoitra groaned as his cock filled him. Szayel remembered its size from before, but somehow it felt so much bigger now. This was perhaps because he was far from relaxed. Szayel's body, his every movement, was taut with aggression. He relished the pain and his complete dominion over Nnoitra. Szayel pressed a firm hand on the man's ruined chest as he began to ride him. His hips rolled with a sinuous grace and he moaned or gasped each time, spurred on by Nnoitra's curses and grunts.

They finished and were at each other again as soon as biology allowed. Their coupling was rough and animallike each time. All of Szayel's pent up anger exploded in red and white over Nnoitra's body. When it was finally over, utter exhaustion took them and they slept where they landed.

.

Szayel dreamed of sand and endless hunger. He awoke to his body's various cries for attention. He was bloodied, bruised, and sore. Above all else, he was dirty. His ruined outfit lay in tatters on the floor. And, of course, his bedmate was none other than one Nnoitra Jiruga.

It was already shaping up to be one of the worst days of his life.

Then Szayel looked down and discovered Nnoitra's arm wrapped around his torso.

Definitely the worst.

Szayel glimpsed a perfect bite mark on the man's forearm. His lips twitched. At least he had given as good as he got, if not better. A little souvenir to remember him by, because this was not happening again. Ever.

Despite whatever Szayel might have felt, he knew Nnoitra Jiruga was a walking, talking mistake. Szayel didn't make mistakes except, apparently, in this case.

Nnoitra clearly brought out the worst in him.

Szayel shook that thought off as he began to extricate himself from under the man's lanky arm. Nnoitra let out a muffled sigh but did not otherwise stir. Once Szayel broke free, he sprayed an aerosol sedative in Nnoitra's face. He then retrieved everything of value he would need for the near future, which really didn't amount to more than a few hard drives and his prototype, and put in the codes to send his laboratory into protection mode. Szayel's screens, panels, and myriad important equipment slid away into the walls.

He took a shower and packed a few outfits with what time he had left. Nnoitra would wake soon and when he did, Szayel would be gone. His work was done here and he had already extracted what payback he could from Nnoitra's body. There was no reason to continue this charade of _companionship_. Szayel's mouth curled down at the thought. No, he didn't need to be around for the final act. Szayel's plan was foolproof, after all. Even an idiot like Nnoitra couldn't possibly fail.

Perhaps it was a form of Stockholm syndrome that prompted the last look back at his sometime tormentor and always frustration. Nnoitra seemed so innocent while asleep. Szayel could almost admit that he enjoyed his company sometimes. Not that it mattered now.

The moment passed and Szayel left.

.

Aaron was very happy to "welcome him home," as he put it, and was completely undeterred when Szayel informed him of the transience of the situation. They soon settled into their routine of attempted sexual coercion.

Later, Aaron just about had him undressed when the doorbell rang. Szayel's bare chest rose and fell with a deep sigh before he lay back against Aaron's monstrous mound of pillows.

"Just be a sec," Aaron said, as he zipped up his fly and then donned a shirt. "Don't go anywhere, now."

As if Szayel could undo the restraints binding him to the bed.

"Far be it for me to escape your clutches," he said, but Aaron was already gone.

Szayel settled in to wait. His body already felt cooler and his mind clearer. Once more, he wished Aaron could separate sex from the need to possess him, though right now he was content to settle for his old yet immaculate mini-lab that Aaron had kept intact. He really shouldn't have been surprised that Aaron had done so. Their once-shared apartment was now an anachronism thanks to the man. The implied attachment usually disturbed him. However, In this case, it proved handy.

Aaron came back before Szayel could pursue the train of thought any further.

"Well?" Szayel lifted one cuffed wrist and held his palm out.

Aaron gave a shrug.

"No one there." He broke out into his trademark, crooked grin. "Now, about that cockring..."

Szayel's skin tingled at the thought.

.

Much later, Szayel left the sleeping Aaron to check on Nnoitra's progress. The display coming in from the camera he had affixed to the man's bag disturbed him. Everything should have been over with by now. Instead, Szayel saw several pairs of feet moving around. Even worse, there was an all too familiar body lying on the ground.

Szayel gritted his teeth as an unwarranted sense of anxiety settled firm in his mind. It was over. He should have been elated. Instead, his chest felt constricted. Szayel cursed to himself as he gathered what things he would need. He made his way out soon after.

Szayel never looked back.

.

He had truly outdone himself this time. All of the pertinent members of the Caravaggio family were dead. The poison decimated their underlings as well. They were unconscious from it and thus useless in combat.

Szayel stepped over their bodies and deeper into the palatial labyrinth. All was quiet thanks to him. Yet even though Szayel knew this, he couldn't help the shiver that passed down his spine. The air seemed heavier the further he crept into the place and he swore he could sense someone watching him. Ridiculous, as well his rational mind knew, but still...

He eventually came to an ornate wooden door with a dozen bodies slumped in front of it. Szayel maneuvered over and around them and then paused catch his breath. He could hear heavy thuds accompanied by occasional groans coming from within.

Szayel's hand stilled on the wood. He choked down more air and pushed.

The sight met his eyes was even worse than he imagined. A blue-haired man held Nnoitra by his collar while he beat him. Blood sprayed with every hit.

Szayel collapsed to his knees from both this and the sudden density of the air. Something inside of him snapped. He saw white for a moment and then it all came back to him with an awful clarity.

"Stop," he said, when he finally had the breath. "STOP."

Grimmjow froze and Szayel Aporro Granz, the former Octava Espada, remembered everything.

.

Short but pivotal chapter! I am going through some things IRL and am just happy to get _anything_ out right now. Still, this will probably face revision at some point because I hate it. A lot.

**Important: **This chapter concludes part one of the story! The good news is that I have the next 130k+ words written so there will be weekly updates from now on for the...two or so people still reading this. The bad news is that I wrote it as one-half of a tag-team so there will be POV switching. I know, I know... I revised the next chapter down to just Szayel's POV. It is entirely possible for me to do this for the whole thing. However, I consulted with Maya (Emochromatic) and she and I agreed that much of the feeling/meaning was lost when I took out Nnoitra's POV. I am open to discussion. Let me know if you feel strongly one way or another about the issue. I aim to please and if pressed would likely revise the whole thing and publish the original as a separate fic for those interested.

The other thing you should know is that the POV will eventually switch back to just Szayel's when I run out of material. The unfortunate truth about RP partnerships is that they never last no matter how much you want them to. SZP and I wrote some of the following in 2008, but completed the majority in about one month in 2011 (see how much more productive I am in RP than in fic, yes). SZP and I will always have that golden summer. Now, I forge forward alone. I always intended to have a Part II to _Coronation_. It just so happened that we already had the perfect one written. To be quite honest, this is the reason my work on _Coronation_ dragged and then stopped for a time. It's fitting that this should be what really resurrects it. So then everything comes full circle and all will eventually be laid to rest.

**This and the rest of my body of work is dedicated to those hardcore Nnoitra/Szayel shippers who just won't quit and whose work has provided me with much happiness over the years. Chin up, my lovelies.** **I only hope you find some small measure of the boundless joy you have given me here.**

**With all my love,**

**Ryoko**


	8. Part II: Chapter 1

**Please see my note at the end of the previous chapter before continuing.**

**The Coronation of Self: Part II**

**Chapter One**

**By Ryoko & SZP**

Szayel had far better things to do than listen to his own information being regurgitated from imperfect lips. However powerful Aizen was, he wasn't the source of today's intelligence.

Still, Szayel was nothing if not amicable. At least, that was what he wanted Aizen to think. He sat in his customary seat and did his best impression of one paying rapt attention to news of great import. A flawless performance save for the irritating distraction with which the Sexta presented him. Szayel could see him leaning back in his chair and staring behind Zommari at him from the corner of his eye. He pretended not to notice.

It was only natural that perfection should be appreciated, of course. But Szayel didn't have any real inclination to return the man's recent advances. He was made to be adored by the masses and not to be sullied by them, as Grimmjow's gaze was doing to him at that very moment. Being undressed by those eyes right under Aizen's nose was thrilling in a way, but extremely irritating in another.

After the meeting, he excused himself rather quicker than normal and began to head back to his laboratory. Grimmjow followed him, but again Szayel pretended not to notice. For a while, at least.

"'Ey, Granz." Szayel turned to find him leaning on the wall, his eyes once again undressing him. Grimmjow flashed a grin and cocked his head. "C'mere."

It was a good thing for Grimmjow that they had not yet crossed over into his territory. Ah, the traps he could have taunted the man with. Instead, Szayel was forced to acknowledge him, for he knew this kind of idiot well indeed. If he received no attention, the annoying behavior would only continue to compound.

Szayel pasted on his best neutral expression in lieu of the condescending smile he wanted to offer and spoke.

"Did you need something, Jeagerjaquez?" Really, he was being far too considerate. But perhaps there would be something to gain here. Szayel would hear the man out and take advantage of him in whatever manner possible.

Grimmjow pushed himself from the wall and took a few steps forward, narrowing the distance between them. His smile widened.

"I been thinkin'." Grimmjow stopped moving and appeared to be enjoying the view. He did not bother trying to hide his apparent leering. Instead, he refrained from answering long enough to assess Szayel. His gaze lingered on Szayel's lips and jaw before meeting his eyes once more. He flashed his teeth.

Another few steps and he was defiantly invading Szayel's space. When he finally spoke he did so with a lowered voice, his words coming out with a deep growl, "we should fuck."

It took all of Szayel's willpower not to roll his eyes. Under ordinary circumstances, he might have replied with something like "will wonders never cease." However, such provocation would only serve to undermine his efforts. To obtain the desired outcome, he would have to employ a different method. Szayel's smile became the real article as Grimmjow finished his thought.

"As flattering as I'm certain you believe your request to be, I'm afraid our interests do not coincide." The dismissal was not as harsh as he could have made it as he was well aware of the Sexta's proclivities and had no wish to have his outfit ruined.

Szayel turned to go, knowing full well this would not be the end of it.

Sure enough, Grimmjow grabbed him by the arm. He pulled Szayel closer and glared.

"I don't remember askin'."

Such bravado was as pointless as the man's ego. Unlike Szayel, Grimmjow was nothing special and none too intelligent either. This kind of situation was child's play for Szayel to redirect and control.

Instead of mentioning his demotion-such would only be a last resort due to the anger and ensuing damage of his property it would inspire-Szayel leaned in to whisper against Grimmjow's ear.

"And I don't believe you are, shall we say, robust enough to withstand me." He licked the man's neck. Grimmjow tightened his grip on his arm. His ensuing animalistic snarl was enough to send a shiver down Szayel's spine.

"I do so hate it when my playthings break, yet it happens often enough that it is a problem." A sigh, meant to prickle the hairs so close to his mouth.

Grimmjow's breath picked up and he pushed Szayel into the wall. The man leaned in, seeming to struggle for control before what passed for speech emerged from his lips.

"Don't talk at me like I'm some kinda pussy, Granz." Grimmjow moved closer. He spoke through gritted teeth. "I'll show ya what it feels like to break."

Szayel sucked in a breath. It was certainly an arousing situation, but he knew he could do better than this. Much better. Fortunate, then that he couldn't help his chuckle at the man's words.

"Will you? I doubt it." He let one hand wander down those well-defined abs, fingers light and teasing against smooth, toned flesh. "In fact, I would say there is only one amongst the Espada who might stand a chance of satisfying me."

He licked his lips.

"Such promise. As I'm sure you might understand, I can hardly ignore it."

Grimmjow tensed at the words. Szayel let the man wrap a hand around his throat and squeeze.. He dipped his finger's into Grimmjow's Hollow Hole. He was not afraid of the incrimentally increasing pressure, rather relished it.

Eventually the man's gaze bored into Szayel's amused one.

"Who?"

Szayel let out a little moan and then smirked at the question.

"You can't guess? Mmmm...but I suppose that is to be expected." After all, the higher cognitive processes weren't exactly Grimmjow's forte. It was a little hard to speak with the hand around his throat, but Szayel didn't bother even attempting to free himself. No, that would be done for him shortly.

"The Quinta, of course."

Grimmjow opened his mouth to speak but stopped. He let out a rough grunt as Szayel's fingers continued to work his Hollow hole and arched into the touch. His fingers tightened, but Szayel didn't mind the bruises he would have from this encounter. There was far too much to gain here.

In reality, Szayel had little interest in bedding Nnoitra. He was simply trying to induce the two to fight. The nature of the opportunity presented to him was unique and begged to be taken advantage of. Grimmjow, with his unwarranted ego, would never even mention this conversation. Szayel was certain of it. And then, later, the two would likely need intense treatment from their vicious battle. Wherever would Aizen send them for it?

Szayel almost laughed again. He stopped moving his fingers and Grimmjow scowled, though over this or the answer to his query it was impossible to say at this juncture.

Grimmjow's smile, when it came, appeared forced. He stepped back and broke all contact. Szayel rubbed at his released neck and licked his lips.

"Tch..." Grimmjow crossed his arms over his chest and leered at Szayel. "You just get yerself ready for when I come back." A quick sneer and he walked away.

Szayel raised an eyebrow, doing his best to look dubious as Grimmjow stepped away. It had all been too easy, really. And to think, no one would ever suspect him of anything. Fools, all of them. Not that Szayel minded.

He wiped his hand on his hakama after Grimmjow turned his back and then made his way back to his laboratory. He had bugs to plant, after all. But first, a shower…

.

Why is this chapter so short? You shall see next week! Just to warn, **there will be a considerable amount of sex from now on. Brutal, kinky, cannibalistic Hollow sex. **In other words, perfectly IC and fitting for all of them as Arrancar. Please put this one on the back burner for now if such is not to your liking. I will post a reminder at the top when it is all over. However, this will not be for a great many chapters or until Part III. There is also a measure of unexpected yet still hopefully IC almost fluff from one of the side pairings to balance it all out.

Thank you for your readership and your patience!


	9. Part II: Chapter 2

**Have you ever read a fic and lamented the fact that the sex scenes were ****_just too short_****? Yeah, this is not that fic. You've been warned. **

**The Coronation of Self: Part II**

**Chapter Two**

**By: Ryoko & SZP**

As Nnoitra stumbled slightly through the dark, empty hallways, he realized that this was most likely going to be one of the worst experiences of his life. The fact that he was going-at all-to see this man had him in more of a fit than the deep gash across his chest, or the five (almost-perfect) gouges along the side of his neck. He was certain that whatever experience he would be forced to endure would be far worse than his petty quarrel with that childish cat. Still, he hesitated somewhat at the room, and regretted pulling the door into himself before his hand was on the knob.

It was bad enough having to see the Scientist at meetings or outside of his lab. But he knew what kind of sick power went to the man's head when he was locked up down here all the time; for the most part, he had preferred to stay away.

His eye scanned the room, tried to avoid the cameras and body parts and corpses and.. whatever the Hell was in that tube. When his gaze fell upon the pink-haired man, he felt himself snarl. "'ey, Grantzy."

.

Szayel swiveled in his chair to face the other man. He let his gaze roam Nnoitra's body, assessing his injuries. The two had obviously been serious in their skirmish as Nnoitra's wounds were beyond the superficial. None too surprising considering the personalities involved. Would these fools never learn? The wounds nothing life threatening at present, but could become so if left as they were. Judging by the other man's halting gait, Szayel could tell he was in pain-though he doubted if Nnoitra would ever admit it. Nonetheless, the Quinta's weakened state did present an...opportunity of sorts that just begged to be explored.

"Yes, Nnoitra?" Szayel crossed his legs and smirked. He had never been one to make things easy on those he considered inferior, and was not about to change his ways now.

.

Nnoitra stopped in front of the other man, held in his scoff when the Eighth Espada turned in his chair, crossed his legs. He was such a pussy sometimes.. The eyes on his body were ignored, if only to stop him from thinking about them at all. He was not sure if Aizen would have already spoken to the Scientist about his coming down, but, based on the overconfidence that the pink-haired man displayed, he was sure that he had. Still, he mentioned it anyway. "Aizen sent me."

He lowered his chin, reevaluating his own wounds once more. He spoke nonchalantly, "I got some.." and made a half-hearted motion to the lacerations that now swam in their crimson pools. "He said you could fix it." Running his fingers over the largest incision that spread over most of his chest, he raised his hand, rolled his fingers together with the feel of his own blood between them. Then, raising his eye to the Scientist, he brushed each coated digit across his tongue, only lowering his lanky limb when the copper taste had faded from his skin.

.

"I have no recollection of such an order," Szayel replied, smirk in place, hands folded in his lap. This was a blatant lie, of course, but one that would serve his purposes. If he gave Nnoitra reason to doubt, there would be more wiggle room in his treatment of the other man. He would still be obeying Aizen, but on his own terms. This thought almost escaped him as Nnoitra spoke again. As he watched the other man play with his own blood, then lick it off his fingers, Szayel suppressed a shudder. It seemed so very...different from how he was used to seeing Nnoitra behave. It was almost as if the other man was attempting to flirt with him. Surely Nnoitra had to know he was playing with fire in doing this. Then again, Nnoitra did live for extremes. At least, this was the conclusion Szayel had reached.

If the Quinta wanted to get burned that badly, Szayel was not about to deny him.

"I might be willing to help..." Szayel stood up, crossing the short distance between them, and circled the other man, ostensibly to check for injuries he had missed. "...for the right price." Nnoitra was in no position to raise any objections, and after that little display there was no way Szayel was simply letting him leave. He had a duty to Aizen, did he not?

.

Nnoitra followed the other man's movements, from the chair, and then around himself, keeping an eye on the Octava, venturing to read any expressions that swept over the man's features. He could not tell whether the Espada was being truthful or not about Aizen's orders. He had distinctly remembered the man directing him here, saying that he would warn the scientist of his arrival; still, there was the possibility of him being too busy to waste his time with Szayel's business- of course, there was always the likelihood of Granz lying to him. Why he would had yet to make sense in the Fifth's head, but very little did on first thought.

Instead, he focused on his wounds, which hardly bothered him at this point. The only reason that he was even here was because he knew better than to let himself rot. Glancing downward, he tried to see his body the way that Szayel did. The longer the other man took examining him in this state, the more his interest slipped from the entire matter. If things were not progressing, either in his favor or not, there was very little need to continue with them.

"I don't know what kinda payment ya want from me, Scientist." He snarled through his teeth, already bored with his circumstances. "Ya gonna help or not? I got better shit to do 'an just stand around."

.

Szayel watched Nnoitra's characteristic impatience take hold of him with detached interest. There was nothing he could do to ease the Quinta's stubbornness, but as it seemed they both wanted the same thing, Szayel decided to expedite the process. "That will come in due time, Nnoitra. Now, if you will but follow me...that is if you do not require a stretcher." Chuckling to himself, Szayel strode past the other man and headed for one of his examination rooms. To some, Nnoitra's wounds may have seemed daunting, but not to Szayel. His sophisticated equipment and superb intellect left nothing to be desired. He was already fairly certain what methods needed to be employed to heal his fellow Espada, but preferred to err on the side of caution-he did so hate it when things went awry. Nnoitra was in good, albeit depraved, hands.

"Come now, I do not have all day..." Szayel said, without looking back to see whether or not Nnoitra was following him. Either way, the barb would serve its purpose and spur the other man into action.

.

Annoyed already by the spectacled Espada, the Fifth stalked after him, ignoring entirely everything that scattered the spaciousness around him. He did not have any interest in what went on in here. He did not have any interest in here at all. With every step, he asked himself why he had even opened the door to this Hellhole in the first place. And then a drop of blood slid down the contours of his abdomen and he was forced to remember.

He did not like Granz. As a matter of fact, he pretty much detested the man. But he had seen some of the insane shit that came from him, and so, like it or not, he did trust him. With his wounds, yes; with his life, unfortunately; with his body…he was still working that one out.

Strutting into the room, he took a seat on the edge of the table, his legs still reaching the floor, his feet flat: it was more of a lean, if anything. He did not require permission or directions when it came to this man. One eye stared blankly ahead, undistracted by whatever was in this smaller Hell, unfazed by whatever the scientist was planning. The worst case scenario was that Granz would make him worse, though he did not expect that. Still, he knew that it would not be brief, and he knew that it would not be easy, before he was finally allowed to walk through those doors again; hopefully for the last time.

.

No answer was an agreeable answer as far as he was concerned. Whether he liked it or not, Nnoitra had just effectively given in to Szayel's demands. Nnoitra's body would be made good as new through a rapid albeit painful procedure. However, there would be a price for such high class treatment.

Szayel used a cotton swab to take a sample of Nnoitra's blood, wanting to test it for impurities before administering treatment. This he sent away with a Fraccion for processing. While waiting for the results to return, he procured the necessary supplies from his nearby storeroom.

"Lie down," Szayel said, before washing his hands and donning on a pair of elbow length gloves, surgical smock, and mask. Nnoitra's wounds were not deep enough to require such, but Szayel hated to stain his clothes. Although he liked pink a great deal, it did not suit him when it was simply blood marring his pristine, white uniform.

.

The tall Espada scowled at the words, but obliged, wanting more than anything to just get this over with. And yet.. something tightened inside of him at the brush of cotton to his open wound, at the command, at the snap of gloves. He veiled it, laying back with his legs stretching out over the table's end, and eyed the ceiling. It was about all he could do to keep from reaching for a needle and sewing himself up. The emptiness above him both irritated and bored. He fought the urge to take in what else was around him for fear of seeming interested. This was a contest, after all, a battle over which of them would cave and acknowledge the other first. So far, he was losing.

Running his tongue idly out along large, square teeth, he felt his foot twitch with impatience. And to keep the Octava from noticing, he finally broke the silence. "Ya really aren't gonna make this easy on me, are ya, Scientist?" He glanced sidelong out of the corner of his eye and smirked at his own intolerance for waiting. Tracing long, slender digits over his neck, he rested the pads of his fingers into the five holes that resided there, where that fuckin' cat had clawed into him in such a childish way. He pressed down, let out a hiss between his teeth, but did not remove his hand. Then, he turned his head to the side, grazed the other man's body with his gaze, and added, "Not that this hurts er anythin'."

.

At the other man's complaint, Szayel turned from his work making the salve to address him, but stopped when he noticed Nnoitra had his fingers buried in his neck wounds. He stared transfixed for a moment, a shiver running up his spine, before replying. "My my, so audacious. If that is the case, I will not hear any complaints about the treatment either." Nnoitra was obviously lying, but that did not matter. Szayel was only increasing the stakes. If Nnoitra reacted to his treatment of the wounds, he would effectively be saying had Szayel caused him more pain than Grimmjow. While Szayel already knew he was capable of far worse than either of the two men could imagine, he would nonetheless be gratified to come out with the upper hand in this matter. It was nothing too important, merely a trifling game of wits, but would be amusing nonetheless.

Finally, his Fraccion returned with the desired results from the blood Szayel had sent away and related them to Szayel in its halting, whiny voice. "Two percent deficiency in white blood cell count is noted, Szayel Aporro-sama. Hollotonella henselae detected in trace but increasing amounts."

Szayel halted in mixing together the ingredients he had procured. "You are sure?" he asked, his expression unreadable behind his mask. The Fraccion nodded its assent.

"Yes, Szayel Aporro-sama." Interesting. Szayel wondered if Grimmjow had done it on purpose for use as a poison, but based on the fool's hygeine, he doubted it.

"Bring me the antibiotic," he said, dismissing the Fraccion as he poured the last ingredient into the healing salve and finished mixing it. He thought Nnoitra would grasp the irony of the situation quite well.

"It is fortunate you came as soon as you did," Szayel said, chuckling and turning toward Nnoitra with the salve in hand.

.

For a moment, and only a moment, and in all reality, a very brief moment, Nnoitra wished that he understood what exactly the pink-haired man was saying to his fracción. And then there was an incredibly long word and something about an antibiotic, and he was struck with the thought of caring and immediately made sure that he was not.

It was an interesting place for him to be in, lying on his back in the middle of this Hell, forced to succumb to whatever this freak could think up- which, based on the test tubes in the room prior, was something he did not intend to unveil. He was more powerful than this lab rat could ever be. Sure, the spectacled man looked the part, acted the part, Hell, he even spoke the part: hollon-too-whatfuckin'ever. But Nnoitra had little patience as it was, and to be stuck here, of all places, pinned to a table and surrounded by needles and psychotic bastards.. his tolerance was wearing thin.

When the man addressed him, he let out an irritated grunt, as if he had been waiting for hours to be seen at all.

"Fortunate? Che…" He wanted to cackle, but instead pushed out what sounded more a combination of clearing his throat and an uncomfortable sigh. "Just sew me up and get me the fuck outta here, Granzy." Eyeing the ceiling, he tapped one blood-covered finger against his teeth, and muttered to himself. "Fortunate…"

.

"Fortunate, indeed," Szayel said, smirking as he applied the salve to the wounds in Nnoitra's neck. He watched as the green substance began to bubble on Nnoitra's skin before moving on to other man's chest wounds. The healing process induced a high level of pain in its recipients in compensation for a swift restoration; Szayel was interested to see exactly how much pain this particular specimen, the Quinta Espada, would show. Of course, his lab equipment would pick up everything regardless.

"It appears Grimmjow has given you an infection. As I highly doubt you are familiar with the technical term, you may say it is a far more aggressive strain of what is commonly known as cat scratch fever." Szayel chuckled as he ran his hand down Nnoitra's chest, his fingers liberally coated with the healing salve. Naturally, there were other methods that could have been used to apply the substance, but Szayel preferred a more personal approach.

"A lesser Hollow may have succumbed in a few hours. I would wager you lasting a day or two without my assistance," he said, smirking, fingers digging into the side of the deepest gash on Nnoitra's chest ever-so-slightly as he spread more of the salve.

.

What little was above him had become boring long ago, but for fear of seeming interested in what the pink haired man was saying, he kept his gaze. And then there was a slight burning on his skin, a strange fizzing sound, and he finally found an excuse to break his stare with the tall ceiling.

He could not even see what was happening on his neck for loss of his right eye, and instead took to following Granz's hand over the wound across his chest. Something green was foaming; it felt like fire; but he did not pay attention to it. His body had long since grown accustomed to this type of torture. What it was not so used to was the feel of slender fingers-slender fingers that were coated in smooth gel-rolling across his torso.

The short strands of pink hair falling over the Octava's face had something inside of him tighten and just as he was thinking over whether or not the Scientist could perceive his tensing, the fingers were taunting him, dipping into his laceration. His breath wanted to force from his throat; he fought to keep the air from escaping between his teeth. When the words registered, he grinned, allowing the brief, sharp exhale.

"A lesser Hollow, eh?" He chuckled to himself, hid the need to feel those digits violate his incision again. "Who isn't?"

.

Szayel was impressed, to say the least, any disappointment he felt in his belittling remark toward Grimmjow going unnoticed evaporating at this. Although his instruments were indeed picking up the level of pain Nnoitra had to be feeling, the other man showed little to nothing of this. Remarkable, considering most previous specimens who had received such treatment had all but begged for mercy. Szayel wondered if it was then possible Nnoitra was a masochist; the thought produced an untoward reaction in himself as he considered all the ways he could test this hypothesis.

Masochism was certainly a viable diagnosis considering his fellow Espada's complete disregard for his own safety. Szayel had always attributed this recklessness to a lack of intellect and understanding of basic social etiquette, but now took great delight in reconsidering his previous opinion. He did not miss Nnoitra's reaction to his probing exploration of the man's wounds, this causing a similar response in himself, though he kept it well hidden. The way the other man reacted to his touch made him never want to stop. It was something of a power trip, and fed his ego as well as the sadistic side of his nature. Digging his fingers into the next wound a little harder, he dragged them down the sides of the lesion, ostensibly to better treat said wound, but in reality Szayel just wanted to see a more visible reaction from Nnoitra.

"Our ranks speak for themselves, yes?"

.

It was an interesting sensation, this bubbling and foaming and grating, and he was sure that he was supposed to be in much more pain than he found himself in. Sure, the entire process was painful, but that did not drive him in the direction of complaining. Instead, he laid his head back, ran his tongue over his teeth, tapped his fingers onto his knuckles; he played up his boredom, hoping to entice the other man, to make the Octava work just a little harder at what he was trying to do. Nnoitra was not stupid. He was aware of the game that they were playing. And he was going to keep up with his side of the challenge, he was going to do whatever he needed to come out on top. After a moment of lithe, probing fingers, he cocked his head to the side, let out a frustrated grunt, and grabbed the other man's wrist in his grasp.

"If yer so smart, Scientist," one dark eye flashed as his fingernails dug into flesh through rubbery gloves. His grip tightened as he forced the medical digits deeper into his wound, a hiss escaping between his teeth. He did not break the stare with the pink-haired man; he clenched his jaw and moved the other Espada's hand beneath his skin.

"…then make it hurt the first time."

.

Nnoitra was putting up a good front. It made Szayel want to conduct further exploration of the other man's body, mind, everything. The feeling of his fingers sliding under Nnoitra's skin was as delicious as it was pleasing Nnoitra was the one to guide them. He tried, but could not fully suppress his pleased shudder or anticipatory smirk, though the latter was conveniently hidden from the Quinta's prying eye.

"You seem to think I am putting forth my best effort to cause you pain," Szayel said, breath all but catching in his throat as the guided tour continued. "I assure you, such is not the case."

Eyes narrowed, Szayel plunged his fingers through the wall of muscle insulating Nnoitra's chest cavity, pushing them in until they met soft organs, then squeezing. It was yet another thing he would have to heal, but Szayel did not mind. He was making a point. It was an insult Nnoitra seemed to think this was the best he could do.

"When I devote my attention to such, you will know. Until then, I suggest you relax and enjoy," he said, relishing the incredible feeling of his hand buried in Nnoitra's chest.

.

The lanky Espada held firmly onto the gloved hand in his own death grip. The combination of everything- the forced (albeit willing) digits beneath his skin, the change in control, the alteration in the Octava's breathing, the way the other man shivered somewhat at his motions- had the grin on his face spreading, the rate of his heart speeding, the temperature in the room rising. If he paid any attention at all to the few remnants of logic in his dazed skull, he would have seen that a normal person tended to blush at how tight the muscles in his stomach had become. Of course, any rational ideas were washed from his head with the overriding desires that flooded him with each stroke of fingers.

And then a stronger sensation fought through even his lust. He clenched his teeth at the tearing of muscle; it was definitely the most painful thing he had experienced today. With his entire body straining to remain calm, he kept his hand on the other man's, clutching fast, despite the fact that he no longer had a say in where the wayward limb was moving to (or what other vital tissues it was moving through).

A foreign feeling subjugated him. His head fell back; his breathing picked up; he turned to the pink-haired man and licked his lips. "…never said this was yer best effort, Granzy."

His free hand brushed the lines of his abdomen, making sure to dither over a nipple while his stare remained on the spectacled eyes beside him. "I just said ya have ta try…" An index finger and thumb pinched just enough to arch his back. "…harder."

.

Nnoitra's erection was obvious in its prominence. Szayel stifled a moan at this and the continual feeling of the other man's flesh encasing his hand. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before-an actual willing participant, not shying away from Szayel's destructive desires, but instead encouraging them. Szayel would never have expected things turning out this way. He had thought Nnoitra would provide nothing more than a game of wits, easily won. This was so much more than anything for which he could have hoped.

As his own erection grew, it became harder to concentrate. It was fortunate, then, that the salve he had applied began its final phase, sewing muscle over bone and stretching new skin over that. He was forced to remove his hand, but not before witnessing Nnoitra's reaction. Oh, how delectable his look of pain was, but even beyond that, the fact the Quinta genuinely seemed to be enjoying himself.

As the last of Nnoitra's wounds closed, Szayel tore off his gloves and mask, throwing them on the floor. The smock soon followed as there was no need for protection now that the other man's injuries were healed.

Ripping off the Quinta's remaining clothes was beginning to seem like a good idea. But then, there was also his Hollow hole which begged to be toyed with. So many possibilities; Szayel's mind was racing as fast as his pulse. Before he could make a decision, his Fraccion returned with the required antidote in the usual hypodermic. He knew just what do, then. Snatching it and dismissing his Fraccion, he pulled the other man's legs open.

"Harder, you say?" he asked, palming Nnoitra's cock through his hakama. "I believe I can manage that." A wicked smirk curling his lips, he pushed the needle into the base of Nnoitra's erection before compressing the plunger.

.

The healing hurt almost as badly as receiving the wounds. And while he tightened when the tearing of muscle had occurred, the rebuilding of it was practically worse. Grinding large teeth against each other, he watched fresh skin pull across himself (with the unfortunate loss of the Scientist's hand inside of him). It was not entirely surprising to him that he was so turned on by the agony; what did come as a surprise was how the other Arrancar was reacting. Such a composed man, the Octava generally was, and watching him fall apart was much more enjoyable than watching his flesh piece itself back together.

When the Scientist rid himself of his protection, one dark eye was drawn instantly to where the unstained, pristine, white cloth had begun to tent. Any inhibitions to outsmart the Espada fled from him; he could not even prevent himself from staring- because he was intrigued, because he was proud of himself, because he was impressed, because he was aroused; and he certainly was not conscious to his tongue rolling out over his bottom lip until it was too late to stop it.

Something entered the room and was rushed out almost immediately, before it even registered that it was another being. The Eighth Espada was between his legs, and Nnoitra kept his gaze locked onto him, his body tensing when the man's expression became fierce and mischievous and dangerous. This was still a battle, as far as he was concerned, though it had taken an entirely different route than from when it began- or perhaps this was the way it had always been planned to go. Regardless, he internally cursed himself for pushing up and away from the table, into the delicious palm. His eye widening just before the needle sunk deep into his flesh.

He threw his head back, every cell inside of him shuddering to a stop in that instant. He could feel the alien object, could feel its fluids spread out into his veins from where it entered, all the way to the tips of his fingers. Stubborn hips moved on their own, against his will. He was losing, and not even with a fight. Compelling himself to sit up, he reached between his thighs, not thinking at all before ripping the syringe from his flesh. His right hand wrapped around the Scientist's throat, squeezed, pulled the man closer to him. He glared. "F-Fuck you."

.

Before Szayel had time to take in Nnoitra's delicious, compelling reaction, he was being hauled closer, spindly fingers wrapped around his throat even as the syringe was ripped from his hand. This and the intense pressure Nnoitra was exerting drew a groan from deep within his throat. The other man's endurance was impressive and made Szayel wonder what the Quinta would do if cornered. He leaned forward, using his momentum to push Nnoitra onto his back.

"I am perfectly aware of your desire," he choked out, one hand seeking Nnoitra's abused erection, freeing it of its confinement while the other wrapped itself around the Quinta's throat. He squeezed Nnoitra's cock even as he applied more pressure with his other hand. Szayel licked the other man's cheek, motion quick so as not to allow Nnoitra any time to react. He was definitely not thinking as clearly as a few minutes earlier. But then, in this moment, he did not much care.

Eyes narrowed, Szayel rubbed himself along Nnoitra's body as he worked the other man's erection with his hand.

.

The noise that forced from between the Eighth Espada's lips vibrated through Nnoitra's entire body, leaving more of a trace than whatever the Hell he was just injected with. He wanted to say something, something rude and harsh and insulting, but nothing came to mind; and when the other man was on top of him, there was no hope.

He argued with himself: he could continue to fight the Scientist and ignore everything within him that said otherwise, or he could give in, admit defeat, and give the other Espada the pleasure of winning. It should have been an easy decision, especially considering how his pelvis had begun to roll against the taunting fingers. But while it was likely that Granz would continue with this game, even after a win was guaranteed, this back and forth that they had was much more stimulating- and he could probably get more out of it.

Fighting to breathe only added to how good his current circumstances felt. Still, he slid his fingers beneath the Octava's collar and spread his hands out over the solid chest, pulling against irritable fabric until he heard the pleasing rip of seams. His notorious smirk returned to his face. Venturing to move his upper body closer, Nnoitra scratched his nails down the Scientist's back, retracing their path harder with each swipe, until he could feel the skin breaking beneath them. His voice box still seemed to be broken and, in place of a remark, he latched his teeth onto the jawbone above him.

.

Szayel sucked in a breath, hissing as the cold air met his sweating skin. He was pulled closer before he could return the favor, Nnoitra's hands sliding against his bare flesh. The sensation was wholly pleasant at first, the other man's hands and nails exploring Szayel's body. Then came harsher scratches, and Szayel got a taste of his own hospitality. His moan was loud this time, unrestrained, as Nnoitra both continued the brutal treatment of his delicate skin and bit his jawbone.

Szayel almost lost himself at the heady feeling of teeth and nails digging in, but calmed at the last instant. He had been winning this battle, hadn't he? As pleasurable as this was, he was not giving in so easily. Vicious gaze glued to the single eye looking up at him, Szayel released Nnoitra's neck to score both sets of his nails down his chest, stomach, and eventually, thighs. Nnoitra's clothes were nothing but tatters by the time he was through.

He ran his hand down Nnoitra's bloodied chest before smearing the Quinta's blood on his own face. Szayel then brought his hand to his mouth and sucked his fingers clean, groaning around them.

.

His movements were echoed on his own body. It was exquisite. After everything else that had happened since he had stepped foot in the lab, pleasure without pain seemed almost impossible now. Ceasing the drag of his fingers over skin, he focused solely on the way that the medical nails carved into his flesh. It was savage. It was sick. It was mad. And his chest rose and fell with each slice.

And just when he was certain he was behind again, Granz made a noise that was hardly that of a winner. And his large teeth flashed again with his renewed confidence in the matter. That was, until a hand spread over his cheek; the same hand that went slowly, digit by digit, into the Octava's mouth. Nnoitra watched intently, his heavy heaves gone and his breath nearly stopping. It might have appeared as if he were giving up- when he adjusted, a groan escaping from his throat at the stings across his fresh wounds, feeling the Eighth's breath on his face- but he had not. He was not losing, even when he pulled the fingers from Szayel's mouth, even when he grabbed a fistful of pink hair, even when his tongue lapped any remaining red from the corner of the Scientist's lips. Only when he acknowledged the other Espada's groin would he consider himself a loser (because at least by that logic, he was still ahead).

He sucked on the Octava's cheek, the taste of his own blood on his lips only adding to the excitement. He pulled at the short, pink locks, angling the smaller man's head so as to better violate the vulnerable flesh of his neck, finally sinking his teeth into Szayel's collarbone and drawing blood.

.

Despite his body's small betrayals, Szayel almost thought he had won. But then Nnoitra grabbed his hand, fisted his hair, and licked the rest of his own blood off Szayel's cheek. It was thrilling, numerous sensations running through his hypersensitive body as his mind, his glorious mind, fought to catch up. It was hard to decide which he enjoyed the most. However, in the end it did not matter. The positions of Nnoitra's hands, mouth, and body were as fluid as the man himself was in combat.

Intoxicating, luscious pleasure raced through his veins to pool in his groin at the renewed pull on his hair, the teeth buried in his shoulder. It was only by sheer force of will he was able to stop his pelvis, which had begun to grind against Nnoitra.

Szayel pulled Nnoitra's head up until the man's face was level with his own, tearing the Quinta's teeth from his flesh. He hardly felt this as he went for the other man's lips. His retaliatory kiss was swift and brutal, all tongue and teeth. He could taste their combined blood on the Quinta's lips, and it only fueled his desire.

Szayel bit down hard on Nnoitra's bottom lip, sucking on the wound and savoring the delectable flavor.

.

He would have expected anything but a kiss at this point, though he did not fight it. And, really, it was hardly what would be considered a "kiss." There was nothing romantic about it; nothing at all was tender or thoughtful; it was barely an embrace. They were ravaging each other. It was the perfect battlefield after their respective mouths had taken to scarring flesh in other ways. To Nnoitra, this was much more of a showdown.

Teeth pulled at his bottom lip, bit down, and blood sprouted from the pierce. He fought back, his large square teeth nipping at anything that came between them, whether that was the Scientist's lips or his tongue. The Quinta had never been a fan of "kissing," but something about this held his interest. He sucked on Granz' tongue, licked Granz' lips, and desecrated Granz' mouth. Had he known this could be so barbaric, he might have done it more often.

Long, lithe fingers still knotted in the other Espada's hair, occasionally tugging, nails scraping scalp. His free hand slid up Szayel's chest, one sharp fingernail grazing a nipple, before continuing upwards to sink into the bite marks he had left only minutes ago. The other man was moving against him, and his own lower body begged for attention; adjusting slightly, he bent his leg between the Octava's, his knee making brief contact with the other man's ass. He wanted out of his submissive position. Forcing his lanky leg tighter to Szayel's groin, he pushed up on Szayel's chest, pulled back in Szayel's hair, compelled the pink-haired Espada away from him, before slamming him onto his back and towering over him like a giant. Looking down, he grinned.

.

Szayel was glad to see his brutality returned. Anything less would have been boring. This really was a battle, and one Szayel was more than happy to partake in. If he had had any idea things would be like this with Nnoitra, he would have initiated contact much earlier.

Before Szayel knew it, he found himself slammed against the table, breath whooshing out in one wonderful hiss. Szayel raised an eyebrow at the Quinta's display of dominance, not giving him the slightest satisfaction in their change of position. He smirked against the pull on his hair, the pressure against his groin. Szayel strained his head against Nnoitra's grip and found what he sought, teeth sinking into the wrist that held him.

.

He groaned. A true groan, deep and lazy. And after how dry his throat seemed whenever he wanted to groan, it was a release in itself, finally getting it to go. The rest of his body shuddered with it. Being on top definitely felt better. The only issue was that the table now felt ten times smaller than when he was on his back, which probably had to do with the lack of space on the hard surface for his long limbs. Efforts to remain stable told him that he would be best off with one leg between the other man's, though he had planned to come back to this position eventually. Sliding upwards, he kneed the Octava's groin, the smirk only fleeing from his face when sharp teeth broke through the skin of his wrist.

Sensitive. Tender. Delectable. Any pain was automatically linked to pleasure, and if it wasn't, it was because his mind did not register it over everything else that was going on. Pulling his hand away quickly, he glared down at the Scientist, a thumb and forefinger gripping the man's chin in his hand. Even tightening his grasp shot to his new wound, which in turn spread lower.

He inched closer to the smaller Espada, and when Szayel's exhalations ghosted over his face, he stopped. And forced Szayel's head to the side, unconscious of and disinterested in how hard he was pushing the man's cheek into the table. Sucking across an exposed throat, he bit down, moved his lips an inch, bit down, moved another inch, bit down, leaving a trail of teeth marks, some deeper than others, some bruises, some beginning to bleed. His hand kept the Octava's head to the side while his mouth slipped over the raised tracks where his nails had been, following them to Szayel's nipple; he brushed it almost accidentally, and then again, with his tongue, with his teeth, unintentionally sliding his knee harder against the Eighth's ass. He gave one distinctively harsh bite and chuckled against the man's skin.

.

Szayel did not resist when the Quinta turned his head, not even when he thought his skull might shatter from the force the other man employed. Every single part of his body was thrumming with energy. He was wired, endorphins from all the pleasurable pain saturating his system. Each time Nnoitra's teeth sank into him, each time he left a bruise, Szayel could feel it like a line of fire ending and pooling in his groin. It was almost unbearable, and Szayel shuddered, his whole body twitching. When Nnoitra finally, blissfully reached his nipple, his moan was more of a plea than anything that had come before. He hardly noticed the pain Nnoitra's leg was causing him. He was too overwhelmed by the other man's teeth and the vibration of the Quinta's chuckle against his skin.

Part of him wanted to completely give in to the other man, but Szayel hated that in his partners and was sure Nnoitra would too. Then there was the fact he could not allow himself to lose. His pride would never bear it.

Nnoitra might have held the dominant position, but all his attention was focused on Szayel. It was easy for him to reach up and viciously return the favor, nails digging in to crisscross older wounds. He paused only to flick the Quinta's nipple and roll it between his thumb and forefinger.

Szayel might not have been able to see his handiwork, but he could feel it just as acutely.

.

Nnoitra moved back and forth between each of Szayel's nipples, toying with one long enough to make it sore, and moving on to the other; he did this a few times, just to guarantee that the pain would sink in- though he could tell by the noises the Eighth was making, and the fact that he was laying still, that he was doing something right. Only when he felt Szayel hard against his leg did he realize how much he had been forcing on him. Nnoitra would have paid more attention to it, had the Scientist not begun to taunt him again. Szayel's nails on his still-fresh wounds were like razor blades over a sunburn. He released the man's skin from his teeth so that he could arch into the touch, a grunt breaking from him, sounding like a whimper and certainly making him appear more like a big cat, purring at the sensation.

Szayel's fingers against his nipple cleared most of his head. He forgot what it was that he was doing, and instead took to licking any blood that had pooled on the marks along Szayel's throat, making sure that his tongue assaulted each sore thoroughly. His hand that was not holding the Octava's face to the table scratched downwards, nails digging briefly into a hipbone, and continuing lower until he had hooked under the Scientist's knee, bending his leg and panting at the new touch of the man's groin. His hips rocked, the friction keeping his pelvis loose; and his hand dithered on Szayel's thigh, gripping the muscles there and slipping underneath to firmly squeeze the man's ass, venturing to pull the Eighth's lower-body up to meet his motions.

.

Nnoitra raised him and made his intentions known, but Szayel did not mind. There was more than one way to come out the victor in a skirmish. Such did not necessarily denote being physically on top. His next distraction came in the form of Nnoitra's pelvis rubbing deliciously against his own, though there was an unwanted layer of cloth between them. Szayel was irritated by it, but made no move to divest himself of his garment. It would only make him seem more needy, and that was something he did not want. Szayel knew it would be removed in time. He was nothing, if not patient. Nnoitra might have unleashed his more impetuous side, but this did not change Szayel's basic nature.

All his thoughts were lost as Nnoitra grabbed his ass and squeezed, the simple gesture enough to make him shudder again. Szayel's arched into the touch, open-mouthed. He then turned a furious side-long glare on Nnoitra and pushed their bodies together as hard as was possible.

.

Quite an appetizing response he received. He licked his lips as he watched from above, Szayel steadily losing control- Szayel steadily losing. The muscles that he gripped tightened in his hand, the man stared him down, and his own grin widened when the hard form pressed more firmly against him. He slid himself lower, thick, long ebony strands of hair falling over his face and across the scarred skin beneath him, until he had settled his feet back on the floor. The jut of hipbones over the white hakama were pleading with him to be assaulted, and he let hot breath find one, followed confidently by familiar teeth. The bone here had less muscle between itself and the surface, but he plunged his teeth in just as hard- if not harder- as he had for the other marks he had given higher up.

With his feet stable on the floor, both of his arms hooked under Szayel's knees; and in what he had hoped would be less clumsy than it ended up being, he pulled, spreading the man open in front of him and compelling his aching lower body against the smaller man's rear end. And while it did seem eager, one hand released his left leg, gripped up his calf, over his knee, across his thigh, and he slipped his fingers underneath the hem of the Scientist's pants.

Licking blood from the raw wound, his mouth dropped, breathed against the man's groin, and pulled hard with his left hand. His smile was painfully wide now, his pulse throbbing in his groin. And though his voice was crude and wearing, he forced a laugh.

"So, Scientist.." His dithering hand paid no attention to the man's neglected length; instead, he thumbed the flesh around the small black hole, before slipping two fingers inside. "…tha's where it is."

.

Nnoitra was certainly not making things easy on him, but Szayel was not about to give up. He fought his instinctual reaction when his hip bone was assaulted, reigning in the heady moan that threatened to break free. However, once the other man's hot breath assailed his naked erection it burst forth, unable to be contained. It was made even worse by Nnoitra's fingers probing his Hollow hole and devolved into a whine. The combination of this and the Quinta's heaviness against his lower body was almost too much to bear, but Szayel controlled himself, fisting Nnoitra's hair and pulling. The Quinta's words further cleared his mind.

"What amazing powers of observation you possess," he said, breath coming in harsh pants as he flicked Nnoitra's eye patch aside with his free hand. The thrust of his fingers was not gentle as he buried them in the other man's Hollow hole.

.

Nnoitra grit his teeth at the new attack. He was the one in control; he was the one who was in the position to take this back-and-forth to an entirely different level; he was-not Szayel. And when an irritated grunt forced from his throat, he cursed himself for being so easily swayed.

The fingers in his would-be left eye were anything but teasing: they were fierce and vengeful and deliciously painful. Venturing to maintain control of his body, of his mind, of the situation, the Quinta tightened his grip on the firm ass in his hand, nails wandering towards a different hole with equal savageness. The unyielding seize of fingers in his hair had him closer to skin and with more to take advantage of, and he smirked at the Eighth's ignorance to it. He bit into the skin around Szayel's Hollow hole, grinding flesh between his teeth, and tasting blood. His one eye flashed up the bruised and red-stained abdomen. He met that spectacled gaze wearing a menacing grin. Then his sharp, pointed tongue rolled out over the wound, passing over it to sink through the small black hole, into the Octava with a rough chuckle.

.

Szayel had thought things bad before. This was so much worse. Nnoitra's initial assault left him breathless with pleasure, and when the other man delved that wondrous tongue of his into Szayel's Hollow hole, he all but came. Szayel had never made it known, but his Hollow hole was especially sensitive. It was why he had chosen to alter its position to a more hidden locale. Fighting his way back, Szayel gritted his teeth and tried to keep his hips from lifting off the table. He had little doubt Nnoitra would notice this, but he hoped the other man wouldn't associate it with his probing tongue.

It was becoming delightfully clear the Quinta was taking this battle to a whole new, more heated, level. However, Szayel was not about to let himself fall behind. He was resilient, as his nails scoring the inside of Nnoitra's Hollow hole proved. His other hand remained fisted in the Quinta's hair, and he tugged harder, pulling Nnoitra away from his own despicably vulnerable spot.

.

Nnoitra arched his back at the nails in his hole. And a gasp that he had tried to reign in tore from his throat as a hoarse cry. He glared at the man who had reduced him to such pathetic, lowly noises and used his own nails in retaliation. Scratching down hard hipbones, he made sure to linger in fresh teeth marks, before digging lower across the pelvis that was so obviously pushing up into his touch. Finally, he gripped the man's thighs, sank his sharp nails into skin, and spread the Scientist wider; his own lower body pushed eagerly against the other Espada.

He could hear what was certainly a decent amount of his long hair rip from his scalp as he pulled back from the Octava's grip. A smirk played across his lips briefly and then his mouth was on flesh once more: his teeth nipping at the perfect circle, his breath coming in quick pants, his tongue probing deeper, his fingers gripping tighter, and his hips rocking harder. He wanted to finish it. He wanted to finalize it. Anything to stop the throbbing in his skull; in his groin. But he knew better than to let his guard down to the other man. And he continued his attack on the Eighth's body, catching his breath between pulses and flashing his grin upwards into those Mad eyes.

.

Szayel delighted in the fact he had regained some leverage. But then, it was all taken away and he was left writhing on the table, his fingers tangled in Nnoitra's discarded hair. He shook them in desperation, trying his best to regain the use of his hand. His minute success in this was overshadowed by his own raging desire, which had grown throughout the entire encounter and now seemed ready to engulf him. Nnoitra's attentions to his Hollow hole and groin did nothing but leave Szayel breathless. Each exhalation was a struggle, each inhale quick and, Szayel hated to admit, needy. He wanted more and was unable to hide it.

Szayel shut his eyes and gritted his teeth before opening them and glaring at Nnoitra. He had no desire to end up with another fistful of hair and so, decided on a different tactic. He knew Nnoitra felt the same desperation and decided to use it against him. If he could not make use of the other man's body, his own would suffice.

Szayel ran a hand down his torso, making sure to pay due attention to each bite mark and scratch, all the appropriate sounds falling from his lips, before he ended at his Hollow hole. He scored the skin right above it with his nails and delved inside, figuratively fucking himself as he groaned.

.

Nnoitra hardly considered the hand that fell from the back of his head. He did not notice it: partially because his focus was on the noises tearing from the Eighth's lips, partially because of the way the man beneath him tensed and shuddered and wordlessly begged for more. And just as he was curling his tongue against the walls of Szayel's Hollow hole, a brush of the hand that had left him caught his attention.

Nimble, blood-stained fingers were teasing worn flesh inches from where he was bent over the other man. And then they slipped past him to where his mouth had just been. And the cries that rang through the room and through his skull were unlike anything he had ever heard.

Nnoitra swore under his breath. He could not keep his stare from the Octava, from the rise and fall of that destroyed chest, up to the bite marks along his neck, down to the hole that he now so exquisitely pounded. It was perfect. He clenched his jaw and cursed for not thinking of it first. But with the reactions Szayel had to his touch, to his tongue, to his mouth, to his teeth, how could he not indulge them? And he cursed himself again for falling prey to the Scientist's plan. His nails sunk further beneath the tight skin of the other man's thighs, and he tore his eye from what the Espada was doing to watch blood pool at his fingertips.

Something distracted him then, and he might not have noticed it had he waited for crimson to drip over flesh and stain. He pushed the legs in his hands as far apart as they would go and then some. He lowered his head to make sure that he was seeing correctly. And he grinned. One finger traced the dark '8'. He bent closer; he mouthed it, bit at it, outlined it with his tongue. Glancing up at the Octava, he spoke so that his breath splayed over the Scientist's swollen muscle.

"Yer jus' full of surprises, aren'tchya?"

.

Szayel's satisfaction was immense as he regained the upper hand. However, he did not show it. He merely continued thrusting his fingers in and out of his Hollow hole, all the while making the most obscene noises of which he was capable. Even though his eyes were busy elsewhere, he could feel Nnoitra's gaze on him. He had the other man right where he wanted him. Szayel was certain the Quinta's need would soon override all his other prohibitions, and all from wanting Szayel's body. The thought was intoxicating, although Szayel could not blame Nnoitra. Who wouldn't want him, after all?

But then the moment passed, Nnoitra distracted by the mark of his rank. Ordinarily, this would have been most pleasing, as it was akin to worship of his number, but not at the moment. Szayel all but hissed in disappointment, but controlled himself before the other man could see his reaction, schooling his features into his usual mask of amused apathy.

"And yet you have barely scratched the surface." Szayel sat back, content to let the other man make the next move. Mostly, he just liked the attention his rank was receiving and had no desire for such to stop.

.

The words, in their literal sense, made Nnoitra smirk. His fingernails scraped up the back of the other man's thighs, his teeth bit down into the man's inky '8', his eye flicked up the man's body, taking in the proof of his being there- deep and stained into nearly every inch of skin.

"Oh?"

Gripping Szayel's ass in his hands once more, he sat up, slipped a knee back onto the table, and stared down at the smaller man; his gaze poured over the expanse of flesh beneath him, over each and every mark that he had only moments ago left on the "barely scratched surface."

The irony of it all made his grin widen, which in turn had him spreading the Scientist fully under him. His pelvis rocked and he brushed himself against the Octava with a growl. His hold on that firm ass tightened as he sat back on his heels, as he dragged the other Espada along the metal table, as he lifted the Eighth's lower body onto him. He felt himself now where he wanted to be, pressing without invitation- though he doubted he would be getting one regardless of how long he waited. He left Szayel's legs on his hips, traced the dark number once more with his eye, and ran his tongue out over his teeth.

One thumb brushed a bruised nipple, was joined by an index finger and gave a pinch.

"Scratched the surface?" he asked with a dark chuckle.

Leaning over the Octava, he pushed himself in without warning, as much as he could without breaking the man, which- as they were- was not as far as he would have liked to be; it was not very far at all. Still, he could not torture the Scientist all at once, he had to ease his way into it. A hiss escaped from between his lips and he halted his movement, stopped himself from more. He tongued a bite on Szayel's collarbone, following the wounds up to the base of the slighter man's ear. "I'd say I'm gettin' pretty deep."

.

Although Nnoitra's desires were easy to predict, Szayel still considered it a victory of sorts. However, these thoughts were soon washed away by pleasure as the Quinta ground himself against him. The smirk left as quickly as it had appeared, his mouth dropping open in a silent 'o' of pleasure as Nnoitra began to force himself inside. The Quinta's cock was almost too large to bear, and Szayel let out a moan, long and heady, his back bowing as it filled him, tore him. He was stretched farther than he had imagined possible, delicious, unhindered friction burning a satisfying trail from the point of their joining to pool in his groin. Szayel could not have been more painfully erect.

The other man's tongue was doing dangerous things to his chest and neck. This added to the potent sensation of being filled, fueled his need. By the time Nnoitra's breath caressed his ear, Szayel had lost all semblance of grace. He barely heard the other man's words, and did not pause to acknowledge them. His hands flew down to Nnoitra's hips and he pulled, urging him forward even as his legs wrapped around the other man and demanded the same.

"Not deep enough," he managed to gasp out, hips rocking toward the Quinta in a meaningful fashion. Szayel sucked in a breath, cursing his own lack of restraint. He grit his teeth as he tried to regain some modicum of control.

.

Nnoitra rested his hands on either side of the other Espada's head. He held himself up, even as he grit his teeth at how tightly the Eighth was wrapped around him; he grinned down at the restless face; he pressed his lips to an ear.

"How's about some self-control, eh, Scientist?" He kept his mouth where it was, brushing sensitive skin, though now he did not speak, only breathed. And when he slowly- painfully slowly, agonizingly slowly- pushed forward, harder and deeper into the pink haired man, he let out a long, steady hiss of air against the Scientist's ear, and then a dark growl.

It took quite a bit of focus to keep himself from going fast (or at any speed above torture). Nnoitra reconnected his lips to Szayel's skin to keep himself occupied. And in his new battle for excruciating stillness, he was hardly aware of how gentle his mouth had become, tracing scars sans teeth, grazing his lips over bruised flesh, sucking lazily, until he was meeting the Octava's lips once again and running his tongue along the roof of Szayel's mouth with a rough grunt.

.

Szayel opened his mouth to reply, but Nnoitra's actions stole the breath he had taken; it came out a halting gasp as the other man pushed himself further inside.

"I believe I have demonstrated quite enough of that already." His words ran contrary to his flushed expression and were punctuated by gasps, his voice low and needy. Most of Szayel's attention was focused on the excruciatingly slow sensation of being filled; he was not particularly aware of the Quinta's mouth or the slow, sensual attention being paid to his upper body. He returned the kiss in the same manner, Nnoitra swallowing all his lewd exhalations, and did his best to remain still. Desire was hot in his veins. In an effort to calm himself, he tightened his grip on the Quinta with one hand, and brought the other up to tangle in dark hair.

.

Only when the other man reacted to his kiss did Nnoitra clearly comprehend what his own body had been doing. It was only when he felt Szayel's lips move against his own, Szayel's tongue push back, and Szayel's slender, strong fingers thread through his hair, that he understood how tender he had been. And, regardless of how much he was disgusted by his own softer actions, he kept them up. He was intrigued now: intrigued by the way the Octava's tongue felt when he sucked it between his lips; he was intrigued by the mouth that he was invading, by the way Szayel's embrace altered to match his, by the way the hot breath hitched when he forced himself deeper.

It seemed to last forever, this process of sinking into the Scientist. And when he finally felt himself fully enveloped, he harder for good measure. He held himself in this position for a moment, venturing to settle some of the throbbing in his groin.

He started to pull away from the Eighth's mouth, sliding his tongue along the underside of Szayel's upper lip, giving the swollen bottom lip slightly harsher attention by grazing his teeth over it. And then he broke the embrace entirely, and sat up. One dark eye glanced between them at the space he had just filled. He smirked. Grabbing the other man's wrists in his hands, he pinned his arms back against the table; and even through the curtain of long black hair, he made sure that Szayel could see his grin before he backed his hips up and thrust them back in fully in one fluid motion.

.

Szayel could hardly concentrate for the throbbing thickness buried inside of him. Every part of his body ached, especially that which had been nearly torn in half by Nnoitra's recent ministrations. Szayel prided himself on his endurance and willpower in these matters, but this was undoubtedly the biggest he had ever had. He was so dazed he didn't notice the Quinta held both of his hands until they hit cold metal.

Even then, Szayel was beyond offering resistance. His nerves warred with themselves over whether pain or pleasure would take prominence. The culmination of this was in Nnoitra's renewed movement, which caused Szayel's arms to tense as his head flew back to hit the table.

.

A hoarse chuckle escaped him. He had to take advantage of the other man's reactions, as it was currently the only way to keep from displaying his own satisfaction.

The force of his thrust had gone too hastily to his head and he felt himself pushing deeper still just for the pressure; his hands mimicked the rest of his body, tightening his hold on the Scientist's wrists. Nnoitra desperately craved the sensation of momentum, the in and out, into the smaller Espada, but he knew that his idling would be much more torturous to the man underneath him, despite the agony that it was causing himself as well. Instead of continuing with his movements, he held himself where he was. For a brief instant, he considered releasing his Ressurreción simply because the extra limbs would have proven useful, but with the interference that it would surely cause, he restrained himself. A quick adjustment and he was holding both of Szayel's wrists in one of his hands, freeing the other to drive his plans forward.

Nnoitra raised his now-unoccupied dominant hand, flexed his fingers, and grinned. A swift glance at the Octava's face and he was prodding into a bite mark on Szayel's collarbone, his own breath hitching at the blood pooling beneath his touch. His hips rocked slightly as he withdrew his fingers, cleaning them slowly with his tongue, all the while eyeing his prey. Wet fingers slid from between his lips, found wounded flesh once more, and slipped into the small hole between Szayel's hipbones, running hard along the inside walls. A wicked gleam flashed across his features, his hand utilizing the movements that his lower-body ached for.

He bent over the other man, his fingers moving deeper, and licked a line from his throat to the base of his ear. And then he was upright once more, laughing softly to himself.

.

The fact that their dance, their game, had taken him to new heights of pleasure and pain was testament to their combined depravity. As Nnoitra responded to his interest by slowing down the pace, it occurred to Szayel that the Quinta was the perfect kind of counterpart for this activity. Somehow, his mounting frustration only served to increase his arousal. He smirked even as his eyes were rolling back from inside his skull. Szayel's gaze turned into a glare as the fingers that probed, tasted.

He licked his lips, chaining himself to the cold reality of the table underneath him and refusing to let go. It was the only thing that kept him from coming as Nnoitra found his weak point once more. Szayel still shuddered and clenched his teeth nonetheless.  
As Nnoitra's hot tongue assaulted him, Szayel crushed their bodies together with his legs. It was enough to drive Nnoitra an inch into him. Szayel's smirk returned at this.

.

Nnoitra would never admit nor display it, but he was impressed with the Scientist's strength considering the position he was in; with the simple movement, he was pulled deeper. It triggered the ache in his groin that he had been doing his best to ignore, and he let out a short hiss, one eye leering at the man on the table. In retaliation, he dug his nails into the sensitive skin of Szayel's hollow hole, releasing his frustration in the harsh, hurried thrusts of his fingers.

He went on with his motions, though he was getting nothing out of it and was therefore becoming irritatingly bored with the entire situation. He ceased all assaults after a moment, pulling his hand away and running it instead through his hair. He scanned the beaten up body beneath him and grinned. Winning their little game was becoming less important when placed against gratification, and even more so when going up against ravaging the Eighth Espada.

He had come to the conclusion earlier that he was not in the best position, and used the time now to adjust. He pulled out of the other man completely and backed off, straightening his legs so that he could stand on the floor once again; he firmly grabbed bruised thighs and yanked the smaller Arrancar to the edge of the table and up against himself. Already, he was feeling better. Before Szayel could object, Nnoitra's hand was wrapped tightly around his throat and he pulled, hauling him upright. With a grunt, his free hand wrapped around himself and the first pump almost drove him over the edge.

Leaning over slightly, he pressed his mouth to Szayel's ear just as a heavy moan ripped from his throat with the roll of his hips into his palm. He had to stop himself before he lost it, and bit down again into the scar on the man's jawbone, using the flesh between his teeth as an anchor.

His pulse raced in his groin and he was quickly bending the other man at the knees and pushing into him once more. He gave a few quick thrusts and then slowed, forcing himself as deeply as he could into Szayel before pulling back almost entirely and repeating. The friction felt delectable, and he rolled his tongue out over his bottom lip as his fingers wandered again across the scarred chest.

.

Nnoitra's fingers that scraped and wounded his Hollow hole almost brought him too. It was pride that stopped him short this time, although he did writhe in the Quinta's grasp. And then even that was cut short as Nnoitra completely withdrew. It was testament to his strength that he made it past the desperate circle of Szayel's legs. He did not even have time to utter the embarrassing and disappointed whine that was threatening. Szayel was pulled close and a hand around his throat cut it off. Blood pounded in his ears and his eyelids fluttered at the intoxicating sensation.

His hands, now free, dropped not to pleasure his aching erection, but to tantalize his abused Hollow hole as he hung drowning in the Quinta's grip. For the greater satisfaction would come when Nnoitra could no longer stand it and gave Szayel exactly what he wanted, thereby gaining Szayel sexual gratification and victory.

Teeth squeezed against the pulse racing along his jaw and then his body was being ravaged again. Szayel held on with both arms and legs this time as pleasure crested and waned and crested again with Nnoitra's movements. He dragged a firm, but not yet wounding hand down the Quinta's back, caressing his working muscles as his cries were cut off by the hand squeezing his windpipe. The other tangled in black hair once more.

.

He hated to give in to what he knew the other man wanted, but he couldn't fight how fucking great simply moving felt. His power and craving intensified with each rock of his hips, every plunge of himself deep into the Scientist, and the fingers threaded through his hair only amplified his already-heightened sense of dominance.

Glancing down himself, he raised an eyebrow at the Octava's moving hand, licking his lips at the way the deft, slender fingers pounded inside of the small Hollow hole. He envied them for only an instant before remembering his current position; he grinned, a short hum of smugness accompanying it, and gave a few painfully slow, painfully deep thrusts, the muscles across his torn upper-body tightening with the sway of his hips. For good measure, the hand around Szayel's throat constricted slightly.

He steadied his pace once again for fear of finishing too soon, and engaged himself with the bloodied collarbone beneath him. His fingers squeezed in time with his unhurried hips rocking leisurely into the smaller man, and a low growl broke from the back of his throat and against heated flesh, his long, tattooed tongue relishing in the coppery taste.

.

Szayel's continued cries, strangled before true release, signified just how pleased he was with Nnoitra's ministrations. Whether the other man knew it or not, he was giving Szayel exactly what he wanted.

Szayel's tongue darted out against Nnoitra's flesh to taste sweet victory.  
The change in pace in addition to the mouth that teased and the undulating hand left Szayel breathless with satisfaction. He continued to massage Nnoitra's back, his fingers finding all wounds and assaulting them one by one. When he was finished, he licked at his fingers as lasciviously as he could with his neck in Nnoitra's grip and then smeared the rest all over Nnoitra's hand and face, wherever he could reach.

.

Nnoitra snarled at the bloodied fingers along his cheek. He stood upright again, pulling the other man in his grasp up to meet him. After adjusting somewhat, his free hand dug nails into a smooth thigh, pulling him in tighter until, for the first time, he felt Szayel's neglected cock against his abdomen. One dark eye gleamed at the spectacled eyes now directly before him and he rolled his hips up and deep, a shudder running up to his neck from the base of his spine at their new angle, at the hard, hot length slipping between their abused flesh.

With each pound, he sped up just slightly; his strangling hand pulsed in time to his thrusts. And when he had reached a comfortable speed, he lowered his head. A flash of his teeth and he was using them roughly on Szayel's bottom lip, drawing blood and forcing his tongue past bruised lips to share the taste. Any remaining breath that the scientist retained, he was going to steal away.

.

The languor which threatened to weigh down Szayel's limbs was lifted the instant Nnoitra's stomach came into contact with his erection. He twitched, knowing with this and Nnoitra's deeper, more violent thrusts, the game would not last much longer.  
Szayel met the other man's gaze with half-lidded eyes and licked his abused lips.

His neck was on fire. He had no doubt that if he were anything less than an Espada, he would be dead or close to it right now. The knowledge only made their dance more thrilling. Szayel's erection, which was being rubbed deliciously raw between them with the speed and power of each thrust, throbbed in time with his hummingbird heart. He met Nnoitra's lips with his own vicious return, probing him with teeth and tongue. A deep and profound shudder passed through him as the last of the air passed from his body. Szayel's eyelids fluttered and he came hard to the feeling of emptiness in his lungs and the staccato rhythm of Nnoitra pounding into his body.

.

Nnoitra relished in the brutal kiss, the aggressive tongue fighting his own. He could get used to it, though anyone who ever found out risked certain death by his hand: Szayel included.

He kept up his pace, harsh grunts pouring from his lips and against the other man's. He felt the smaller Espada shiver and grinned at his success; his grip loosened and he let Szayel's back hit the table, moving once again to tower over him. Both hands held tightly to the Octava's thighs. He thrust hard, arching his back and driving himself deep, nails scraping over skin as he ventured to keep himself above the surface. Nnoitra threw his head back, dark strands falling back over his face, sticking to the sweat across his forehead. His heart raced in his chest and his hips fought desperately to keep up. And then his muscles tensed, he felt stiff, and with a gravelly moan, he lost himself.

He fell forward onto his hands, holding himself up above the Eighth Espada. Nnoitra lowered to rest on his forearms, panting against the scientist's ear. "Well..." his eye opened and he glanced at Szayel's face; he flashed his teeth. "Fuck."

.

Let it be known that SZP and I took a few artistic liberties in this work (as if that weren't obvious already). Namely, with the "recovery period" between bouts of passion. They aren't human, after all. It would be a waste and a let down *cough* to apply human standards to them.

Right?

...

Yes, I thought you might agree.

We also took liberties with regard to Nnoitra's Hierro among other things. Clearly and obviously it is more fun this way.

Thank you and good night!


	10. Part II: Chapter 3

.

**The Coronation of Self: Part II**

**Chapter Three**

**By Ryoko & SZP**

Later, much later, Szayel would think back on the culmination of their shared sadism and brutality with glee. Now, everything was marred by pleasant afterglow.

Nnoitra's breath joined his own, the chorus of pants filling the sudden silence created by the absence of flesh slapping against flesh.

"Indeed," Szayel croaked out, his normally smooth voice now taking on a gravelly tone due to the inflicted trauma. His sigh was equally unpalatable. Szayel might have made Nnoitra remove himself, but he wasn't certain he could stand at the moment. He might have said more, too, but his burning throat silenced his normally silver tongue. Instead, he poked his fingers into Nnoitra's Hollow hole none too gently yet without any great malice and smirked.

.

The fingers prodding into his Hollow hole reignited a fire in the pit of his stomach and he felt himself prepare for another bout of savage fucking. He arched into the touch, all body and no mind, and hissed, more in satisfaction than in anger. "Che…" He grabbed the other man's wrist and pulled the talented fingers from him, pinning his arm to the table. He sat back on his heels, one dark eye scanning the abused body beneath him. It only heightened his craving.

He let out a sharp sigh, still venturing to calm his breathing and slow his pulse. One slender finger traced the scarred lines across Szayel's chest, slid along the definition of muscle and ribs, dipping into still new wounds; he spread the blood out under his touch, entertaining himself with the way it contrasted against the Eighth's pale skin. Nnoitra grinned.

He smiled while painting the other man. Though it kept him occupied, it did not distract him from the feel of slipping slowly out of Szayel's body.

"Ya look like Hell, Granz." The name was more of a groan as it fell from his lips, as he inhaled deeply, now fully unsheathed. Nnoitra suppressed a shudder.

Both hands now toyed with cuts and he ran them down the length of Szayel's body, smearing red across the perfect inky '8'.

.

Szayel's eyes traced the path Nnoitra was taking on his body. He sucked in a burning breath and then tore his gaze away as he searched for the ointment he had prepared for Nnoitra. It was not ideal, but it would have to do for the time being. Nnoitra's softening erection leaving his body drew an involuntary shudder and the ensuing remark a grimace.  
It was true his perfect body was sullied, but that was easily fixed. As a being capable of rising from the ashes of death, bodily harm meant much less to him than to his inferior fellows. Even if not for that, Szayel's superb intellect made healing himself a trivial matter. When his passion was expended he would, as in the past, rid himself of all unnecessary blemishes. For now, a temporary measure.

Szayel coated his hand in the green substance and, meeting Nnoitra's gaze, dragged his hand down his throat with slow, sensual grace. The burning in his neck grew to intense, white-hot agony and Szayel's back bowed, breath struggling out through clenched teeth. When the healing was complete, he let out a long, satisfied groan. Afterward, he let his eyes travel down and then back up Nnoitra's body.

"One might say the same of you, Gilga," he said, meeting Nnoitra's gaze and smirking. His tone was back to his normal, satisfied, taunting purr.

.

Nnoitra continued to taunt the smaller Arrancar. He thumbed hard circles against Szayel's inner-thighs, paying attention only to the crimson stains left in his wake. When the other man adjusted under him, he raised his eye, watching every movement carefully and never ceasing his own. He cocked an eyebrow at the green salve; it took a moment to register what exactly the Scientist had planned. And when one of those deadly hands spread across his throat, Nnoitra growled. The press of his fingers strengthened. Fuck if he wasn't going to reverse all of the Quinta's hard work.

His gaze followed the path of rejuvenating flesh, and he found, with his reawakening appetite, that it was much more satisfying to watch on someone else. And Szayel loved it, that was apparent. Nnoitra's chest rose and fell faster as the body beneath him arched, pushed up into the agony. And then those eyes were on him and he met them with a glare. Grip tightening, he didn't even bother to hide his assessment of masterpiece being erased. Nnoitra looked down himself, followed the line over his hipbones, lower to where their flesh rivaled, and then up the lithe form, higher to the milky skin that now laid so pristine, just begging to be ravaged.

"I still look better than when I came in here," he started roughly, running a hand up the battered chest to pinch a nipple. His tongue rolled out over his bottom lip as he met Szayel's stare, "Don't expect me to thank you fer that."

.

Szayel sucked in a breath at his bruised nipple being toyed with, but maintained his cool gaze.

"What do you think? Shall I make Grimmjow look better when he comes in here too?" Szayel said, his smirk stretching perfect, bloodied lips once more. He had no real intention of repeating the process with the Sexta, but Nnoitra didn't have to know that. If provocation was the best tool for making an opponent show his hand, Szayel would employ it.

He leaned in and licked Nnoitra's cheek before whispering to him.

"I do have a tendency to surpass myself." The chuckle which had been impossible before now felt right bubbling out of his healed throat.

.

The Scientist's words struck him like a blade in the pit of his stomach. Though he couldn't grasp the feeling of why exactly. He had never felt such a sting from simply words before. He kept the feeling hidden, taking his anger out on the man beneath him.  
Towering over his partner, he tightened the pinch of his fingers, letting his nails dig into the already-wounded skin. He was snarling now. And he lowered himself to Szayel's ear, the deep growl in his voice making his ire known,

"You think yer fuckin' strong enough to take on that piece of shit alone?" He breathed harshly against fresh skin and sunk his teeth into the side of the Octava's neck. The new flesh breaking under his teeth felt delectable; he ran his tongue out over the mark, staining his lips with the Espada's blood.

Pulling back, he ran his tongue over his teeth and shook the hair from his face. "If I were you," he glared, forcing his hips to grind against the smaller man's, "I wouldn't go bitin' off more than I can chew."

.

The reaction was more than Szayel could have hoped for. As he well knew, Nnoitra did not acknowledge emotions he thought to be weak, rather spent them as violence. So it was that Szayel was made aware of the edge he now possessed over the other man. As if his victory could have been any sweeter.

He arched into the nails that dug, the teeth that sank into his skin, and then suppressed a shiver at those hips rolling against his own. Although his arousal had been recently spent, certain enhancements made him able to reacquire it at a much faster rate than was ordinary. He was not there yet, but on his way.

"Physical prowess has nothing to do with it," he said, and smiled to himself, drunk on this newfound and powerful knowledge.

Szayel pulled himself up by Nnoitra's hair and began kissing his destroyed chest.

"Such a bold invitation," he said, right before biting down on Nnoitra's pectorals and sucking the wound.

.

The fingers in his hair pulled tightly and Nnoitra let out a slow hiss with the pain. He pulled back, albeit not enough to lose the grip of the man beneath him; if Szayel was going to use him as leverage, then he was going to work for it.

The teeth in his skin distracted him. He arched his back at the throb of his new laceration and then he let his head fall with the wet suck of lips. Long hair draped over his face, curtained around the other man against him. He pushed up into the touch of that wicked mouth, rolling his hips to the pace of heavy breaths that fell from his lips. Long fingers slid up Szayel's naked back and knotted in short pink locks, tugging hard and keeping the deft tongue in contact with his broken flesh. His other hand held the Arrancar's shoulder, sharp nails scraping higher to healed skin, sinking into the single bite mark that he had left.

Pelvis rocking with the pulse in his groin, he tightened his hold on Szayel's hair, and groaned low and lazy.

.

The hand in his hair would have been distracting under other circumstances. But here, now, it only urged him on. Szayel plastered his mouth to the wound, sucking with abandon as he allowed his tongue to wander uninhibited. He probed every puncture mark he could find before dragging teeth across the skin that was still intact in a slow, teasing manner. Szayel could feel the tensing and flexing of Nnoitra's muscles. He spent his time analyzing the way they moved under each inch of destroyed flesh as he visited it.

.

Nnoitra leaned back even more, savoring the hard pull of fingers in his hair combined with the deft tongue slipping wantonly across his scarred chest. The teeth against his skin lured a breathy moan from his throat and he moved both hands to pull the other man tighter to himself. He mocked the damaging mouth with his nails up Szayel's back, retracing his path until the wounds reopened beneath his fingers and he was spreading blood out along the length of the Scientist's spine.

He was on his heels now, his head thrown and exposing the bite marks that riddled his throat, his hair falling down to the middle of his back. Scraping nails lowered, following the trail of scars and the tensing muscles; he reached the Octava's ass and gripped, a grin returning to his face as he forced Szayel into his lap and rocked his hips, growling in satisfaction at the friction.

.

Szayel kept up his ministrations until he felt Nnoitra was in a particularly vulnerable state-never mind the agony provided by those wicked fingers. He used the leverage the other man freely offered him to alter their position-knees up, Szayel pushed until Nnoitra fell backwards and off the table. It did not matter that he was dragged along or that the impact almost winded him, as it certainly must have done to Nnoitra.

Szayel's smirk was fleeting. He preferred to spend his time renewing his acquaintance with Nnoitra's body than gloating at a minor victory-the real one had already long since been assured. Proof of it was still sprayed across his abdomen even as the psychological evidence danced through his mind.

In a manner that could almost be considered tender, Szayel brushed Nnoitra's hair out of his face and leaned in to run his tongue along the inside of the man's Hollow hole.

.

The fall caught him off guard, the breath drawing quickly from his chest at the forceful collision; the other man's body on top of him only added to the pressure that accompanied a lack of air. He choked at his initial inhalation, his body fighting him at the simple act. The pain in his back was bearable, nothing felt broken though almost everything felt sprained. He glared up at the other Espada, showing his teeth with a resentful growl.

Szayel was the devil, he was sure of that now. But before he could voice his loathing, that hot tongue was inside his Hollow hole and he was losing his train of thought. Any air that had been venturing to fill his lungs seemed to vacuum out with his sharp hiss; his bruised body arched up from the cold floor and into the new touch, his hips thrusting up fervently.

"Lousy fucker," he snarled. Reaching up, he clawed at the newer skin of Szayel's neck, reveling in the way it broke open beneath his nails.

.

Szayel would have chuckled, but he was too busy moaning into Nnoitra's eye socket as those talented fingers pierced his skin once more. His body was a mess full of aches and pains, but that only served to enhance the experience for him. The fact that the same was true for Nnoitra made it even more pleasurable.

Szayel swirled his tongue around in Nnoitra's Hollow hole as he let a questing hand trail down Nnoitra's abnormally long abdomen. He massaged blood out of every wound he could find and made new ones to toy with where there were none. His breathing was heavy and deep as he came to straddle Nnoitra and began rubbing himself against that willing body.

.

Nnoitra relished in the attention that his body was receiving, the consideration that the other man offered to each of his delectable wounds, old and new. It excited him, the torturous movements, the taunting, the stinging pain that shot through his body; it fought with his lust for focus.

Their new position intrigued him. As much as he had delighted in his control, he was curious as to what the Scientist could do to him under such compromising circumstances. He laid back, fingers sinking into fresh skin with ease, his one eye gleaming at the blood that stained his fingertips. Each slide of the other man had him rolling his hips, anxious to move forward with their game, eager to see where the Octava would take him. The pulse in his groin was throbbing, causing an ache in his head that he ignored to the best of his ability. He concentrated on Szayel's teasing and flashed his teeth, grunting at the tongue that slipped deeper into his skull.

His hand moved to his mouth, each blood-stained finger sliding between his lips with a wet sound, before he reached out for more.

.

Szayel smirked when his fingers found Nnoitra's cock. Whatever the reason, he was glad the man was ready to go again. He tore his attentions away from Nnoitra's Hollow hole as he sat up and lifted himself. A moment later and he was lowering himself onto Nnoitra's cock with a slow grace that none of the other Arrancar seemed to posses.  
Szayel licked his lips and stared down at Nnoitra as he gave him a dose of his own medicine. It was hard to maintain the position when his own body demanded fulfillment, but he was nothing if not persistent. The hard press of Nnoitra's cock sliding into his body would be nothing without the excitement their game offered him either, after all.

.

Fuck this man for being so slow.

Nnoitra fought the urge to growl, knowing by now that any displays of agitation were exactly what the Scientist needed to feel satisfied. And with how good their new position felt, he could not afford to lose his restraint, even for a moment.

Gritting his teeth, he ran a hand through his hair, tugging on his own dark locks to relieve some of the pressure, to slow the heavy pulse that throbbed from his groin and into the man above him. His other hand wandered, fingers slipping into deep bite marks at Szayel's hipbone before proceeding higher, making sure to lightly brush the Octava's neglected length in their movements; Nnoitra met the other man's eyes as he did. Nails grazed up the lines of torn skin and flicked a nipple, his customary grin returning to his face.

.

A chuckle rumbled through Szayel's chest even as he fought against his body's insistence. He was clearly on top now, both physically and mentally, as had always been a matter of course. Szayel met Nnoitra's gaze and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. He moaned and his erection twitched as those delicious fingers began to taunt him once more.

When Nnoitra was fully seated inside of him, Szayel paused to savor the moment. He clenched around Nnoitra and sucked in a shuddering breath. The second time was just as good, if not better, than the first.

.

His overpowering desire to move was causing a strong ache in his head that somehow seemed less annoying when he tightened the fingers threaded through his hair. His jaw clenched harder, his stare deadly as the other man moved agonizingly slowly on top of him. If it had been anyone else, he would have grabbed that slim waist and pushed, dominating their speed even from the bottom. But he had to be sly with this man. He had to pretend that the leisurely adjustments meant nothing to him, he had to suppress the shudder at the contracting around him.

He removed his straying hand from the other man's body, cutting off any connection aside from the one that mattered. Running his tongue out, he steadily licked his fingers clean. Forcing his hips firmly to the cold floor beneath him was the best that he could do to keep them from lifting. If Szayel wanted control, he could have it. But he was going to have to work for it.

.

Szayel did not alter his pace, rather maintained the slow and steady torture. It was nothing he couldn't bear, having been so recently pleasured, but was nonetheless irritating.

When Szayel finally decided to move, it was with a sensuous roll of his hips that had their bodies almost parted before they slammed back together. He met Nnoitra's gaze and smirked before repeating the motion. This time, he dropped a hand down his own body to find and savor anew each laceration he had received.

.

Nnoitra tugged harder at his own hair, biting his lip at the slow movements of the man on top of him. He focused on the lithe form, the deep red lines and dark bruises littered over the otherwise creamy skin, his mouth going dry at the desire to deepen them, to carve up what remained of flawless flesh and lick his fingers clean of that coppery taste. The thought itself had a grunt building up in his throat that he could not help but release when the Scientist moved his hips.

He let out a hiss of air. As much as he tried to resist, his own lower body pushed up slightly at the rolling above him. He leered as Szayel teased himself, envious of those nimble fingers. Reaching out, he dug into a large bite mark directly above the man's hollow hole, digits slipping in to curl while his thumb pushed harder against the wound. His movements were quick and his breath was picking up, the fingers in his hair tightening. Compelling his hips back against the floor, he thrust his fingers into the Octava's Hollow hole forcefully and grinned.

.

Those fingers thrusting into him with such savagery ripped a moan from Szayel's throat. He faltered, this the greatest indication of exactly how exquisite a sensation it had been, before his hips caught up with him. Sweat rolled down his spine despite the cool temperature of the room as his Hollow hole radiated pleasure across his nervous system.

Szayel shivered, his breath beginning to come in harsher as he continued to ride Nnoitra. He drew his hand up from its position next to his thigh, where he had been massaging the mark of his rank, and twisted his nipple. The twin sensations from Nnoitra's fingers and his own ran through his body to join with the ache in his erection and those from Nnoitra's cock buried so deep in his flesh. He wouldn't last long this second time. Not like this.

.

Nnoitra let go of his own hair and lowered his hand to his body, long fingers tweaking a nipple. His chest was rising and falling more quickly now, the Octava's delectable motions forcing every breath from his lungs with a harsh grunt.

Had he not been studying the other man intently, he might have missed the brief moment of hesitation that flashed across Szayel's face. It had him grinning wildly in satisfaction and he could not help but open his mouth to gloat about how far the Scientist had fallen.

"Don't tell me yer worn out already?" He leered, raising an eyebrow. Nnoitra slowed his thrusting, taking the time to curl his fingers along the inside of the small hole, nails grazing over sensitive flesh, all the while watching for any reaction.

His muscles strained, pulling his scarred skin tighter and making him aware once more of the cuts across his body. A sharp breath escaped his lips; Nnoitra pushed hard into the floor, restraining himself from meeting Szayel thrust for thrust. A quick glance up the marred chest before him and he was licking his lips. He so hated to give this man anything, but his craving overrode any rational thought, his desire to see the Espada at his weakest would be worth it. His hand slid down his own body to where their skin met and he thumbed a bloodied thigh. Meeting the other man's eyes, his only warning was the flash of his teeth before his fingers wrapped firmly around Szayel's cock and he gave a rough tug.

.

The words might have jerked Szayel out of his impending rapture had he been any less far gone. As it was, all he could muster was a halfhearted grimace. Nnoitra was meeting him thrust for thrust, his cock a powerful, thick, and pleasantly jarring force. If only he would continue...

As before, Szayel's mounting frustration only served to spur him on. Nnoitra might have thought he had the upper hand, but he was giving Szayel exactly what he wanted. That was his real accomplishment. The knowledge spurred Szayel on. He rode Nnoitra faster, completely giving himself over to selfish desire. When that devious hand wrapped around his erection and pulled, it was all over. Szayel came almost as hard as he had the first time, his eyes closed as he let out a throaty moan.

.

Nnoitra grinned at the sight before him. In their short time together he had come to know that the Scientist was not one to shamelessly display his desires. The fact that he was now showing his true colors intensified Nnoitra's lust more than anything else that had happened. And the fact that he was so turned on by Szayel's expressions and quickening pace irritated him. He ground his teeth.

The simple stroke of his hand brought Szayel over the edge and Nnoitra's breath caught in his throat as he watched. That noise tore through him. Lifting his hips, he thrust up into the smaller man, arching his back from the floor to drive himself deeper; the pressure fueled his need and he panted heavily, growling low in his chest as he came into the Octava, not bothering to suppress the shiver that had his body tensing.

He threw his arm over his face and fought to slow his breathing.

.

It was a few moments before Szayel was able to come down from his second high of the day. When he did, he found himself a sweaty, aching, and panting mess. He sighed and placed one hand on Nnoitra's chest, steadying himself while he regained his breath. When this was accomplished, he rose on slightly less-than-graceful legs and ran a hand through his hair. He could already feel blood and semen leaking down his thighs as gravity dictated. He sighed again as he stared at his torn outfit lying so forlorn on the floor.

Szayel moved to the side and found a towel, which he tossed at Nnoitra.

"Help yourself. I'm going to take a shower."

Before that, he would also heal himself. As always, he knew that Verona would be waiting with his personal aids. Soon he would be immaculate once more. As for the Quinta, if he was intelligent enough to use the salve, Szayel wouldn't begrudge it. Otherwise, he could keep each and every wound Szayel had given him.

.

Nnoitra only realized that his eye had been closed when he needed to open it, the feel of Szayel lifting off of him making him shudder. It took him a moment to sit up, his entire body sore, his back still aching from the fall. He ignored the towel that was tossed to him; instead, he pumped himself one more time, raising his hand to lick his palm.

"I guess no cuddling then?" He grinned, sucking his fingers into his mouth.

Pushing the hair off of his face, he stood. And despite his pain and his scars and his complete exposure, he turned to leave, dismissing any healing salve in favor of the reminders spread out over his body. He threw open the door and walked out, raising a hand to Szayel before disappearing from sight.


	11. Part II: Chapter 4

.

**The Coronation of Self: Part II**

**Chapter Four**

**By: Ryoko & SZP**

Grimmjow rubbed the back of his neck and let out a low grunt. His fight had been rewarding, even with the scars that now marred his skin, and while he was satisfied, there still remained a tightening in the pit of his stomach. He intended on having that itch scratched as well.

On most days, he would avoid this area altogether-not that it intimidated him- because he had no reason to show his face here. And, of course, because science or whatever else Granz thought he was up to down here was of absolutely no interest to him. Of course, today he was not going to the lab for science. He was going to prove himself, to make the lower-ranked Espada show him the respect he deserved. A smile pulled at the corner of his lips at the thought of that respect, the scientist on his knees in awe. Suppressing a moan, he turned the corner and eyed the large doorway, a brief shudder running up his spine. Squaring his shoulders, he pushed the doors open.

One glance around the room and he was already bored. How the Octava could stand to be locked up down here for days, he would never understand. He raised an eyebrow. It wasn't Szayel's mind that he needed.

"'ey, Granz!" he yelled, making himself at home in the space. He bent to eye a strange jar before straightening his back and speaking once more. "C'mon out, scientist. Time to play."

.

Grimmjow was a predictable creature for all his stubbornness and unwarranted pride. Szayel knew he would come, down to the very day-always a day late and a rank behind Nnoitra, it seemed. Not that he minded. It made him very easy to control.

Szayel prepared something special for Grimmjow. His time with Nnoitra had been _enlightening_, to say the least, and forced him to reconsider his previous opinion of both of them. He would give the man what he wanted, but on his terms and not the other way around.

To that end, he had devised an enticing game for all three of them. Each had his part to play. Grimmjow was a puppet dancing on a string. Szayel's puppet, Szayel's string.

As soon as the man entered the lab, Szayel activated his suppressors. The fool had walked right into the heart of Szayel's domain and was thusly subjected to an efficient albeit incomplete bodily scan. With the data from his fight with Nnoitra, Szayel would now be able to nullify the greater percentage of his reiatsu and abilities.

The doors to his personal chamber sealed themselves shut with a hiss as he emerged into his main laboratory. His smile, when it came, was tinged with an edge of mania. The very timbre of his voice, when he spoke, would have been a sufficient warning for anyone who knew him well enough. A pity for Grimmjow that had he never bothered to learn. He might have spared himself considerable humiliation then.

"You're late."

.

Grimmjow was in the middle of fidgeting with a small tube of something when he heard the doors close. He stood upright and looked around the tables of experiments, finding the Octava with his gaze and smiling. Walking closer to the other man, his grin widened.

"I told ya I'd come back for ya, didn't I?"

It had been a few days since he had fought with Nnoitra; most of the blood on his body had dried and scabbed, his bruises had already adopted their dark coloring. The lack of attention he paid to them only added to how sore he now felt. Still, with his eyes on the scientist, he almost forgot about the dozens of slashes across his body or the deep gouge above his brow. Each step he took reminded him of why he had actually been told to come here- despite Tousen's suggestion to let him rot, Aizen had warned him against going another day without care. And while he normally did the exact opposite of whatever that bastard suggested, he found this to be the perfect opportunity to take advantage of Szayel.

Grimmjow crossed his arms. "I guess bein' on time isn't my thing," he snarled. "Y'should just be glad I gave you some time to get ready for me."

.

Szayel let his gaze wander down the Sexta's body as he assessed the damage. As expected, it was quite significant when compared with Nnoitra's wounds.

"My, my, so generous," he said, his tone a low, mocking purr. With his smile intact, Szayel snapped his fingers to summon his Fraccion. "I've decided to humor you. But work before pleasure, hmmm?"

Several of Szayel's Fraccion stepped up to surround Grimmjow. With his suppressors activated, Grimmjow wouldn't have the strength to resist them if he tried. Szayel's Fraccion would heal him and scrub him completely clean with sterilizing agents before returning him for their master to inspect. Szayel himself had better things to do at the moment.

.

For a moment, the Sixth Espada felt about ready to gloat at his success. There was no way that he could fail now, not after all of the shit that he had gone through to get here. Hell, even willingly walking into the lab was more than could be said for most of the Arrancar. His smile faded, however, when Szayel's Fraccion moved around him.

While he wasn't known for his intelligence, Grimmjow was still capable of sensing when something didn't feel right. And Szayel's movements, his words, his tone of voice, suddenly felt very wrong. He ground his teeth, fists clenching. Something stopped him from taking a step forward, from pushing past the useless servants and putting himself in the other Espada's face.

"What the fuck?" His body felt weak, limbs ignoring his will. Even the outrage that he so desperately craved seemed to slip beyond his reach.

Grimmjow sensed that his breathing was slowing; he felt lightheaded. That arrogant smirk remained in his view, and he managed a glare even as his vision clouded around him before everything went black.

.

Szayel took his time examining the Sexta after his Fraccion returned with him. After determining that their work was impeccable, he had them strap the man face down to the examination table he'd had specially modified for the occasion. Instead of the usual cold metal, he had this one covered in soft cloth. A pillow cushioned Grimmjow's chin, keeping his head slightly elevated.

There was a sizable square hole right underneath his crotch, its edges rounded so as to conform to Szayel's aesthetic standards. Szayel had the Sexta's hands bound behind his back with a strong yet comfortable cord. His legs were spread far apart-Szayel added a good amount to the original table to make this position more hospitable-and shackled at the knees and ankles.

To make things more efficient, he had even outfitted Grimmjow with a collar which suppressed his reiatsu so that he could turn the according machine off. This would have an added psychological effect later when Nnoitra arrived.

The first thing Grimmjow would notice upon waking was the table covered in sex toys and medical implements-everything from whips to chains to scalpels. A large clear container of white lubricant held prominence in the center.

Szayel changed into an outfit that was better suited for the occasion. He had no intention of repeating the previous day's performance, not where his attire was concerned. Instead, he had come up with something more disposable-a small pair of white shorts, perfectly tailored to hug his body. They served as window dressing for perfection and could be torn at will. His only other adornment was the transparent elbow-length gloves he wore.

Szayel turned from Grimmjow's unconscious form and ran a hand along the toys he had gathered.

.

Grimmjow's eyes peeled open slowly, his vision fighting for focus, and he blinked hard to clear them. His head still throbbed. Squinting, he tried to concentrate on where he was, how he had gotten there, and the smell of the room had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Immediately, he remembered.

Though it was dimmer now than earlier, he still strained in the light. A sharp breath passed between his lips, his gaze falling on the table before him: a whip and smaller objects, shiny and metal, caught his attention. His body tensed. He realized he couldn't move.

He pulled, feeling his shoulders tighten painfully against the ties around his wrists. His calf and thigh muscles strained to move his chained legs. He struggled but managed to arch his back for more leverage. He held himself this way, stiff and useless, until his limbs shook and the table pressed firmly against him once more.

What the fuck was happening?

Grimmjow craned his neck to look down at himself and was surprised to feel something move against his throat. Despite the fact that he could not see it, he was aware of what it was. Humiliating. Grimmjow growled low in his throat.

Looking ahead again, he noticed the man standing, facing away. Grimmjow wondered how long the Octava had been there and if he saw the failed efforts. The thought only added to his fury. Under any other circumstances, he would have enjoyed the view; in his current position, he was free to stare, to take in the man's slender frame, the smooth lines of definition that ran down his back, and of course lower to where white fabric tucked under the curve of Szayel's ass. Grimmjow almost groaned before remembering that this man was the reason that he was tied up.

His words were edgy when they escaped his throat. "-the fuck is this shit?"

.

Szayel heard the sounds of struggle behind him, but did not bother to turn. It was only when Grimmjow spoke that he deigned to offer him his attention.

"Verbose, aren't we?" he said. As though it mattered. He was well aware Grimmjow was not an intellectual equal. Had he desired a conversation partner, he would have turned to someone else. No, Grimmjow was here for one reason and one reason alone.

Szayel approached him with this in mind. He let his gaze wander over Grimmjow's naked flesh, and then licked his lips in appreciation. It was quite the pristine feast laid out before him.

He leaned in over Grimmjow's head to run a massaging hand down that muscular back before drawing close to whisper in his ear as he had done before.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he said, before taking Grimmjow's earlobe between his teeth and biting it. He rolled the small piece of flesh between his teeth and tongue before licking further up and behind his ear.

.

Grimmjow's body tensed as the scientist's eyes scanned his exposed skin. Of course he had wanted this, but not the way that it was playing out now. His expectations of himself had been much higher, his entire prediction based on how easy it had been to bed Yylfordt. And while he expected a bit more of a fight from a fellow Espada, and from someone who was not under his command, he had not anticipated his own defeat would occur so quickly. He hated appearing vulnerable and under these conditions, it was impossible to feel anything else.

It was pointless, but Grimmjow struggled again. Even though it meant nothing, the pressure that thrummed across his muscles aided him in feeling that he could gain back some of his control as long as he continued to fight. After another period of tightening, he let out a sigh, and relaxed.

The hot breath against his ear shook him from his thoughts. He opened his mouth to challenge the Octava, the words never making it past his lips; the argument was replaced by a husky moan and his whole body shivered at the delectable tongue that teased him. Grimmjow shifted, glowering at how easily he was becoming aroused.

He lowered his head to the pillow, speaking into it. "You know I didn't mean _this_, ya sick fuck."

.

Szayel gave his earlobe one more good bite before letting go. He ran a hand through Grimmjow's hair, massaging his scalp as he spoke.

"Your words and actions do not agree, I'm afraid." No, indeed. Not with the way he had just moaned.

Szayel smirked and left him for the opposing table. He grabbed the container of lubricant and made his way along Grimmjow's body until he was at his groin, trailing a hand down his flesh as he went. After putting down the container, he leaned in to massage Grimmjow's buttocks.

.

Grimmjow resisted the urge to lean into the touch of nimble fingers in his hair, but the simple act was enough to curl his toes. Thankfully, Szayel was distancing them before he had the chance to do anything embarrassing. As if his position wasn't humiliating enough.

As usual, his body had betrayed him. It was too late now, the shame had already passed; he focused on the scientist across from him, raising an eyebrow when he spotted what he held in his hands.

"Fuck, no."

His fists clenched. He paid no mind to the hand along his back, considering only what Szayel's intentions. Before he could object again, those hands were on him, kneading into his skin, luring a sharp hiss from him. He buried his face in the pillow and cursed under his breath, trying desperately to keep his hips still.

.

"Would you rather I create a new orifice? The result would be equally pleasing to me," he said, his honeyed tone conveying just how much he would _enjoy_ it.

Szayel continued massaging Grimmjow's flesh until he was certain of the body's full cooperation. Then he leaned in and began trailing open-mouthed kisses along that same flesh, his tongue swirling against immaculately clean skin. When he reached the Sexta's already established orifice, Szayel probed it with his tongue. He licked circles around the sphincter and then began to slowly push his tongue inside. His free hand slid upward and he massaged Grimmjow's balls as he did so.

.

The question hardly registered in Grimmjow's mind. He couldn't concentrate on anything other than Szayel and the divine torture that he was being submitted to. Something about an orifice, he realized too late. He had no time to come up with a snide remark before the Octava's mouth was on him.

Grimmjow shivered. He used the pillow as an anchor, feeling secure enough to hide in it the fact that his breathing had picked up, that each inhalation was accompanied by the straining of his muscles. And just when he had loosened somewhat, Szayel's tongue was inside of him and his entire body pulsed with desire.

Against better judgment, Grimmjow pushed back onto the devilish heat, wanting more, wanting control enough to take it for himself. The hand on his balls had him shuddering, pressing his face into the soft cushion.

"Shit," he whispered. "Fuckin' shit."

.

With a little help from from his finger, Szayel managed to get his entire tongue inside. He slid it in and out of the Sexta's orifice as the man backed into his face. He continued to massage Grimmjow's balls until he was hard, and then ran his fingers up his substantial shaft to thumb the tip. Szayel smeared the pre-come he found there over his hand. As he continued his ministrations, he fisted Grimmjow's shaft and began to pump.

A few strokes in and he withdrew the hand spreading Grimmjow's ass cheeks to smear it with lubricant. When this was accomplished, Szayel withdrew his tongue and, still pumping Grimmjow's cock, slid a finger, then two, and then _three and four_ inside of him, all heavily lubricated.

.

Grimmjow arched- as much as he could in his current position- when Szayel's hand wrapped around him. While his head screamed at him to fight this, his hips adjusted to take full advantage of the paired sensations, Szayel's fist pumping him and his tongue slipping deeper.

When the Octava pulled back, Grimmjow sighed. He was sure that Szayel could feel his heart beating rapidly as it pulsed to his groin.

He could have forced himself to relax if he only had to deal with the hand around him. But as soon as he thought it, he knew that it would be too easy. He clenched at the finger that slid into him. There was no way he was about to let this happen.

"Don't-" The snarl that he had intended came out as much more a whimper when another finger joined, followed by two more. He shook his head. "Goddammit."

Pulling at his bindings, Grimmjow glared, his teeth grinding and his temper raging. He turned his head to direct his scowl at the other man. "You fuckin' son of a bitch!"

.

Szayel's fingers retreated and then returned full force after he had retrieved more lubricant. This was something he had developed especially for this occasion as well. It contained a mix of drugs designed to induce relaxation and increased sensitivity to stimuli. Really, he was being far too nice. But he would make up for that later.

"_Relax_ or I might accidentally perforate your colon," Szayel said, as he repeated the process. All too soon and he was stretching the Sexta farther than he was certain the man had ever been stretched. Szayel paused with his fist completely inside for Grimmjow to become accustomed to the sensation. Once he felt certain that it was safe enough, he continued with his ministrations until he had his arm buried inside Grimmjow up to the elbow. The sensation of being squeezed by Grimmjow's hot flesh was intense enough that he became erect.

.

The second time Szayel's fingers entered him felt even worse than the first. The amount of lubricant that was being used unnerved him, and he couldn't help but feel on edge over why the scientist wanted him so prepared.

"I'll fuckin' kill you," he barked, a menacing tone in his voice.

And then Szayel's fist was inside of him and he tensed, the sensation almost too much to bear. Grimmjow could hear the chains around his straining legs, the cord pulling taut when he fought to free his hands; he half expected the skin of his back to rip with how rigid he had become, his muscles stiffening painfully. Every inch deeper had him clenching around the other man. He turned back, supported his chin on the soft cushion, his mouth open in a silent scream.

It was only when Szayel stopped his movements that Grimmjow realized it was no longer painful. It was degrading, of course, and anything that had him this vulnerable was enough to make him feel inadequate. But when he tightened again around the Octava's limb, he felt his body twitch in satisfaction.

"Shit."

Grimmjow noticed after a minute that he had loosened. Before he could blame the scientist for his newfound relaxation, a new set of footsteps echoed through the lab.

.

The first thing that Nnoitra heard was the rattling of metal.

Of course they had started in on the fun without him. The Sexta's threat reverberated off the walls, the mere sound of his voice causing Nnoitra to adopt his customary snarl. He wasn't sure what to expect when Szayel told him of this scheme, only that he would certainly enjoy himself, though that point was obvious enough. After their fight, he was more than willing to do whatever it took to knock Grimmjow down a few pegs. Of course, his presumptions fell short at the sight when he entered the room.

Despite the fact that the Sixth Espada was laid out superbly, his one eye focused solely on Szayel, elbow-deep in Grimmjow and so apparently turned on. He frowned, large teeth grinding against each other.

"Couldn't wait, huh?"

It angered him more than he let on. He stalked into the room, grabbed Szayel by the arm, and yanked, ignoring the harsh scream that ripped from Grimmjow's throat at the hasty motion. Fingers knotted in short pink locks and he pulled the other man's head back, glaring down at him.

"Er is this all part of yer plan too?"

.

Szayel was just beginning to enjoy himself when he heard the footsteps. Unfortunate that Nnoitra had gotten there so quickly. He began to retract his hand in anticipation, but Nnoitra was on him before he could complete the motion. Szayel's arm was ripped right out of Grimmjow's flesh. He felt the man tear around him and groaned. His situation was not helped by the fact that Nnoitra chose such a vicious return. In accordance with their plan, Szayel allowed his body to be manipulated in whatever manner Nnoitra saw fit-regardless of the fact it was hard to tell what was pretense and what was reality with the man. Either would serve his purposes.

"I wasn't expecting you," he said, his clean hand dropping down to massage Nnoitra's thigh when he was sure Grimmjow couldn't see them. "Until later. Quinta." He did so hope Nnoitra played along. Extremely difficult to showcase his full talent as a thespian if his partner was unwilling to cooperate.

Szayel let himself hang in Nnoitra's grip. Instead of correcting their positions, he licked his lips and began to peel off his sullied glove. The collar which Nnoitra was to use for their little game sat right in the Sexta's view. Szayel glanced at it and then back to Nnoitra. He raised a brow.

.

Being in such close proximity to this man brought on Nnoitra's desires. His wicked cravings came back in a flood at the simple touch, at the memory of their earlier encounter. Szayel was insatiable, he had learned. And their mutual need for control was certainly one of the most pleasurable aspects of their relationship. Still, he couldn't help the tightening in his stomach at the thought of his free reign; the struggle for dominance had been more than enjoyable, but putting Szayel in his rightful place would feel _so much better_.

The lie had him smiling, running his tongue out over his teeth. "Y'know I come when I want to."

He followed the Octava's gaze, a flash of satisfaction gleaming in his eye when he spotted the collar. Nnoitra looked down at him; fingers tightened in short hair as he lowered himself, his teeth sinking into the side of Szayel's neck. It would be difficult for his mouth to get to that spot once he had fitted the scientist with his choker. He bit down hard, relishing in the coppery taste against his tongue. When he backed off to meet Szayel's eyes, his expression had altered to severe bloodlust.

"Get over here."

Nnoitra walked to the other side of the room, dragging Szayel by his hair behind him, his grip toughening when reached the table. Holding firmly, Nnoitra's free hand worked the collar around the other Espada's neck, his grin widening at the sight.

One long finger slipped beneath the new accessory and he pulled hard, bending Szayel over the surface still littered with toys; the metal caught his eye and he made a note to come back for it later. Pushing himself tightly to the scientist, he ran his hands over the exposed flesh of Szayel's back, nails digging in to leave their mark for the second time in the last few days. Nnoitra intended for these ones to stay.

.

Szayel had a moment to drop the glove and then Nnoitra's teeth were in his flesh. He sucked in a breath and fought to let it out in a normal manner. Szayel opened his mouth to speak, but before he could Nnoitra was dragging him by his hair. He enjoyed it, but instead of showing it, he made every effort to appear disagreeable. Szayel clutched at the hand that dragged him and winced as they came into the Sexta's view.

"You made it past my traps, my perimeter alarm. I must say, Quinta. I am _impressed_." Szayel finished speaking just as Nnoitra halted their movement. He made a show of struggling to stand, his fingers digging into Nnoitra's hand and drawing blood. When the man grabbed the collar, Szayel did his best to fend him off, even managing to charge up a cero before it clamped shut around his neck. He allowed the energy to dissipate in an instant, hopefully giving off the illusion that he now lacked access to his reiatsu.

"Still, I hope you don't believe you've won just because of this," he said, his tone a low hiss as he was slammed into the table. Handcuffs and other protruding objects dug into his stomach as Nnoitra scored his back with his nails. He lay there with his usual calm and collected mien, head turned to regard Nnoitra as best he could. Grimmjow was, ostensibly, being ignored for the moment.

.

While Nnoitra was aware of Szayel's game, the fight that he was putting up only heightened his fervor. He forced Szayel harder into the table, pressing roughly at the base of his neck; he raised his other hand and licked the blood from his new wound.

"Dunno what part of this ain't winnin' to you." He flashed his teeth.

His arm dropped and he gripped at the smaller man's waist, fingers slipping lower. His nails grazed smooth skin, teasing over a hipbone before sinking into the flesh there; strengthening his grip, he pulled Szayel back, meeting him with the roll of his hips. Nnoitra leaned over him, lowering his voice when his mouth traced the shell of his ear.

"Now," he whispered, his tone gruff. "Stop fuckin' talking."

Hooking his fingers beneath the collar, he yanked Szayel upright. In one swift movement, he turned him around, his free hand grabbing Szayel's ass and drawing him closer, his breath heavy with the friction of his rocking hips. He pulled at the small ring of metal around the Octava's neck, bending him backwards and exposing that delectable expanse of skin; he dipped his head, running his long, tattooed tongue over Szayel's collarbone, sliding down the narrow concave line in the middle of his chest, and finding a nipple, which he flicked briefly before tugging it between his teeth.

.

It took Grimmjow a long moment to collect himself. His eyes had been shut tightly, his teeth grinding, and a violent pounding in his veins, ringing loudly in his ears. When he opened his eyes, he struggled to keep focused; the light seemed to suddenly bring back his awareness and all at once, the pulse throughout his body shot to where Szayel's arm had been forcibly ripped from him. He resisted the urge to strain in his bindings.

Nnoitra's voice was loud in the room, it tore him from his thoughts. He cocked his head to better see but only caught a tall blur of white. Grimmjow thought back to what Szayel had said a few days ago.

"_...there is only one amongst the Espada who might stand a chance of satisfying me."_

Recalling their conversation had his body burning up. He had been so certain that he could win over the Eighth Espada and now... He shook his head. There was a rough voice behind him and then a flash of white passed by his table. Grimmjow gritted his teeth at how effortlessly Nnoitra had controlled the situation, how arrogant he appeared with Szayel in his grip. For a moment, he considered baiting the Quinta, offering his assistance and taking Szayel for himself. The idea had his lips curling. He even opened his mouth to speak but stopped as the collar matching his own was locked around Szayel's neck. Of course. Nnoitra didn't need his help.

He eyed the pair enviously, Szayel's voice shooting through him, triggering the pleasure sensors in his brain. His arousal only infuriated him more.

"Fuck!" he yelled, his voice breaking slightly. He ignored the pain, fighting the chains and cords that held him down with fierce tenacity, his teeth showing as he snarled. "Let me the fuck outta here!"

.

It was an extremely arousing situation. Szayel struggled to hide just how much he was enjoying it. He could feel Nnoitra's hard cock digging into his ass, and Grimmjow's eyes glued to him.

"My, but your lexicon is almost as expansive as the Sexta's. Do you compare notes, I wonder," he said, repressing a shiver as Nnoitra's hot breath assaulted his ear. Then he was being hauled upright and his body was being bent. Szayel raised a hand and placed it on Nnoitra's head as if to push him away. A small noise of what Grimmjow should mistake for dissent caught in his throat and he hissed out his next words as Nnoitra's delectable tongue explored his body.

"Why don't you two amuse yourselves instead, hmm?" Szayel desperately wanted to run his nails down that skin and over the healing marks he had inflicted upon Nnoitra the previous day, but he controlled himself. He didn't spare Grimmjow as much as a glance.

.

Nnoitra pulled tighter on the collar, cutting off Szayel's airway, remembering the similar situation in their prior encounter. He scowled, lifting his head up just enough to be heard. "I told ya to shut up," he said harshly. And it was all that he said before his mouth met skin once more, teeth breaking through the flesh of Szayel's collarbone.

Up until now, he had been ignoring the Sexta; he hadn't even given the man a second thought since he walked into the room. That irate tone hurt his head, deepened his frown. Fingers clenched at Szayel's ass and he pulled, raising his hips and savoring the way Szayel's body slid along his own, making him edgy and aggressive as he tugged on the choker again.

He turned his head, directing his fury at the Espada who deserved it. "Unless ya want my foot up yer ass, I'd shut yer fuckin' mouth too."

.

Grimmjow loosened up, catching his breath. These bastards were going to just leave him here.

As well as he could, he looked beyond the lanky Arrancar, anticipating Szayel's reaction to every one of Nnoitra's disgusting ministrations. The pain inside of him and across his back and shoulders had almost entirely been neglected. His breath was coming hard and heavy in his chest as he watched, his tongue rolling out along his bottom lip as Szayel's upper body was exposed to him; his bindings pulled and he cursed the hole beneath him for its lack of friction. Grimmjow could smell the blood in the air and he growled low, a bead of sweat sliding down the side of his face.

.

Nnoitra looked back to Szayel with a grin. He let go of the collar, his hand falling to accompany the other; both teased the skin at the top of Szayel's shorts before slipping under, gripping bare flesh, nails digging in hard to compel their bodies closer.

He lowered his head, hot breath following the side of Szayel's neck to his shoulder, where he bit down forcefully with a rough grunt.

.

The choking noise Szayel made was not a lie. Not that Szayel minded. His fervor only increased with every single thing Nnoitra did. It made pretending to fight against him all the harder. As Szayel reached up to grab Nnoitra's hand, he commended himself for his valiant efforts. And then Nnoitra let go of his neck and hauled him off his feet and he was forced to grab the man's hair to hold the position.

Nails pierced his flesh once more. He could feel blood staining his shorts and commended himself once more for his foresight in choosing such a disposable garment. It was trickling from his other wounds too, mapping the contours of his chest and abdominal muscles to drop and sully his floor. He keenly felt these little wounds and couldn't help the groan that fell from his lips or the fact he angled his head to allow Nnoitra better access as the man leaned in to make another. Grimmjow's eyes on him only made it better. His groin ached from this and the friction being applied to it.

"You'll have to do better than-ah-than that."

.

Their plan seemed to be going smoothly. And even though he knew that many of Szayel's actions were dictated by his desire to appear vulnerable, Nnoitra could still sense the brief moments where his genuine reactions overlapped with simulations. And even though he knew that Szayel was purposely egging him on, he still felt the need to prove himself when he was told to do better.

Nnoitra withdrew his hands. With his grip not holding Szayel up, he felt the hair pull from his scalp as the smaller man touched the floor. Nnoitra shook his head, long hair falling over the side of his face.

"_Better_, huh?" His need for superiority took over; he grabbed Szayel's arm in one hand, holding him in place as he slid the mess of toys and supplies down to the end of the table. His eye flashed briefly with a dark contentment and then he was throwing the other man onto the surface, pushing his shoulders down as he climbed up, straddling him; his long legs barely fit. He glanced beyond Szayel's head to where the objects now piled, grateful for his reach. When he sat back he made sure to roll his hips, the sly grin returning as he eyed the length of cord in his hands.

Nnoitra grabbed Szayel's wrists, knotting the cord tightly around them. Where he planned to secure him, he had not thought through. He stepped off onto the floor, scanning the space and finally settling on something that would have to do. His heels clicked as he walked, dragging Szayel along the table by the cord, stopping only to force the rest of the toys to the floor. Nnoitra bent down and tied the end in his hand to the leg of the table. When he stood upright, he pulled on one of Szayel's arms, satisfied with the tension in the rope. He kept his legs free, knowing that the scientist would not try anything that would jeopardize his precious act.

Before he returned to Szayel's side, Nnoitra snatched a few of the items from the mess on the ground. His grin widened as he spun the scalpel in his fingers, watching the light reflect off of it and onto Szayel's defenseless form.

Standing at the end of the table, Nnoitra's gaze moved up Szayel's body. While it irritated him that the Octava had already rid himself of the scars he had left only a day ago, he was not one to say no to a clean slab of flesh to cut anew. Fingers played at the top of Szayel's white shorts while he twirled the scalpel in his other hand. His only warning was a fleeting smirk and then he was bent over, his hair splaying out over Szayel's stomach; he pressed the small blade against a hipbone, sliding it down smoothly, his eye gleaming at the line of blood that followed. When he reached fabric, he pushed harder, cutting through the white material and staining Szayel's pale thigh. Nnoitra stopped himself just as the dark 8 was drowned in crimson. And he paid no attention to the other man's response, moving over to repeat the process on the other side.

He finished, tossing the scalpel to the floor. Bloodied fingers found the white material and he ripped what had remained uncut, exposing Szayel completely. Nnoitra took a step back and regarded his work, slipping a thumb between his lips and sucking.

"Ya wanted better," he said, showing his teeth. He rolled his tongue out over another finger, licking it clean. "Ya definitely look better to me."

.

Szayel was nothing but enthused as Nnoitra threw him this way and that, his body becoming deliciously bruised in several places. When Nnoitra picked up a scalpel, Szayel congratulated himself once more for his efforts. In addition to his amazing foresight in laying out a few of these items, he was _very_ good at manipulating Nnoitra into using them.

Szayel waited with bated breath as Nnoitra leaned in, then let out a groan as the scalpel began to cleanly slice through his flesh. It was, perhaps, a more exquisite sensation than anything else they had done thus far. When Nnoitra repeated the motion on his other thigh, Szayel's head dropped back in ecstasy. And then he was exposed to the cool air and left bloodied and panting. Crimson stained the mark of his rank and slid across his thighs to begin a heavy pool around his body. Szayel's cock twitched against his stomach at the sight and sensation.

He chuckled to keep up the act.

"I'm endlessly surprised you knew what to do with that, Quinta. Perhaps you will be useful to me after all."

.

Nnoitra grabbed Szayel's calves and pulled, stretching him against the bindings and bringing him closer. He thumbed up smooth skin, licking his lips at the blood smearing beneath his fingers. Bending over, he ran his long tongue over the new wound, staining his lips and relishing the taste and feel of the deep laceration. He backed off, blood-spattered lips parting to flash a grin up at the other man, and he breathed heavily over Szayel's straining cock to lap at the crimson pooling over the dark tattoo on his other thigh.

Szayel's words infuriated him. Regardless of the act, Nnoitra could sense the satisfaction in his voice and it set him on edge. He bit down hard, grinding skin between his teeth and tugging as he moved away. Wiping his mouth on his arm, he glared down.

"I won't tell ya again," he started, his tone harsh. He raised his hand, bringing it down viciously across Szayel's face. In an instant, Nnoitra was on top of him, bloodied fingers clutching tightly to the other man's chin; he hovered over him, long hair curtaining over them both. "Shut the fuck up."

.

Grimmjow tensed in his bindings as Szayel was thrown onto the table. The sound of his body hitting the surface echoed through the room, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge. He watched, jealousy raging, when Nnoitra tied him down, shamelessly leering at the pull of skin over muscles as Szayel was stretched out on the surface. The ache in his groin intensified, his stare never leaving the shiny metal as it slid over Szayel's body. Only when his mouth felt dry did he realize that his jaw had dropped. He wet his lips, fingers curling, muscles tightening, his eyes lighting up at the sight of blood slipping down Szayel's thigh.

Grimmjow bit his lip hard. If he couldn't feel the scientist's blood under his tongue, he would settle for his own. "Fuck," he whispered, his voice gravelly with the start of a moan.

Expecting any aid from the other two Espada now would be idiotic. Instead, he adjusted on the table as best as he could; he savored the feel of his shoulders pulling back and his calf muscles tensing painfully, and he rested his head on the pillow, never taking his gaze from Szayel. Arching uselessly, Grimmjow groaned, craving the pressure and friction that this table was withholding.

.

Szayel shuddered as Nnoitra ran his tongue and fingers over his raw, wounded flesh, even moreso when the man hovered with such promise over his aching cock. But before anything could come of that, he was moving his attention to another part of Szayel's body. Szayel could feel his skin tear as Nnoitra drew back with it in his mouth and while it wasn't the most pleasant sensation he had experienced, he went along with it. Szayel hissed out a pleasured sigh, and then his head whipped to the side as Nnoitra battered him.

Instead of cowing him, it only made him smirk. When he was certain Grimmjow couldn't see their faces, he leaned in and licked the blood off of Nnoitra's lips with one long, sensuous swipe of his tongue. The sound of the Sexta's groans was pleasant, but not quite so much as the taste of his own blood on those lips. The strain of the bindings on his flesh was another bonus.

"Your methods are crude," he said, his smile in contrast to his words. Szayel could already feel his cheek swelling, but it was no matter.

.

The taste of blood had him teeming with savage desire. He sat back on his heels, hips rocking slightly and merely for that divine friction. Nnoitra pulled open his jacket, exposing the length of his abdomen and how quickly his chest was rising and falling with his heaving breaths; he tossed the fabric to the floor.

It was clear that Szayel was not going to give up. Leaning over him, Nnoitra pushed his head down against the table, forcing him to look at the Sexta who was boiling in his own frustration only a few feet away. He lowered his mouth to breath against Szayel's jaw, eyeing it maliciously before breaking his large teeth through soft skin. His tongue lapped at the blood and he pulled away enough to whisper sharply in the other man's ear.

"_This_ is my plan."

One strong hand held the Octava's head down, his other slipping lower to grip the man's neglected shaft. Nnoitra was not gentle as his fist gave only one brisk pull, his thumb pressing over the head of Szayel's cock.

A moment later, he was off of the table, a predatory glare in his eye as he moved to where Grimmjow lay. Nnoitra fisted a clump of blue hair, taking advantage of the man's cry to slip his thumb between his lips and over his tongue, giving the Sixth Espada a taste of what he had been missing. Leering over his shoulder at Szayel, Nnoitra walked around to the other side of the table, already working at loosening his hakama. When he was entirely exposed aside from his boots, he hauled himself onto the table between Grimmjow's open legs.

"Listen up!" His hand came down hard against the Sexta's ass and he grinned at the loud clap that echoed in the open space. "If yer good, I'll let ya have him."

.

Szayel let his gaze wander that delectable scarred flesh before it was turned toward the Sexta. He met Grimmjow's eyes with a raised brow and a smirk as Nnoitra whispered against his ear.

Szayel was tempted to ask what Nnoitra had in mind, but instead choked on a moan as the man pumped his shaft. His eyes wandered from Nnoitra's retreating back to Grimmjow and back as Nnoitra undressed and took his position behind the man. Indeed, all _was_ going according to plan. Szayel slid down the table, luxuriating in the tension in his arms and the feeling of cold metal against his bare flesh.

After licking his lips in what should appear to be an uncertain manner, he dragged his gaze from Grimmjow's own to meet Nnoitra's hard eye.

"Tame the Sexta on your own time, Quinta," he said, and smirked again. "I am not your bargaining chip."

.

Grimmjow's irritation turned quickly to fury when the Quinta released his hair. Szayel was flirting with him from across the table, and the combination of arousal and anger confused him, which in turn heightened his already-seething temper. The table shifted with the weight of the other man and he shook in his bindings.

"I ain't just gonna sit here and fuckin' take this shit!" The rattling of chains accompanied his yell throughout the lab, reverberating off of the walls.

The slap against him put him over the edge. Nnoitra's words meant nothing to him. Szayel's looks meant nothing to him. Every muscle in his body contracted at once, the table shaking underneath him as he struggled; he was gaining nothing, getting no results aside from the sweat that slipped down off of his forehead, but he did not stop. A husky roar tore from his throat.

.

Nnoitra leaned forward to grab a fistful of blue hair, pulling Grimmjow's head so that his back was arching uncomfortably from the table.

"Did I stutter?" he asked condescendingly. Another yank of his hand was enough to shut the Sexta up. "If you want yer reward then behave." Hearing nothing then from the other man, he let go.

"You." Nnoitra sat back and nodded in Szayel's direction. He held the scientist's stare while his hands lowered, one fist pumping his cock. His neck craned, long hair falling down to the middle of his back. His breathing picked up; a wave of lust came over him when he eyed his handiwork, the Octava spread out on the table, bound and bloodied. He moved his hands to Grimmjow's available flesh, nails grazing up muscular thighs, gripping into Grimmjow's ass, and pulling him open. He ran his tongue out over his teeth and moved forward, rubbing against the man beneath him. Sucking in a sharp breath, he pushed into the other man, a groan rumbling in his chest when he was fully enveloped. Nnoitra raised an eyebrow to Szayel and spoke, his voice breaking into a harsh whisper.

"I'll do whatever I want with you."

.

He fought to relax, partially because he was all too quickly losing his strength, but also because he was certain now that nothing he could do would keep Nnoitra from going through with this. He would never admit it, but Grimmjow was finally grateful for Szayel's actions at the start of their encounter; had he not been prepared and stretched by the Octava, there was no way he would have been able to take the Quinta now. Still, it didn't keep him from burying his face in the pillow when the tall Espada thrust deeply into him. Grimmjow was still sore and the pressure was only heightening it.

Lifting his head, he met Szayel's eyes, his glare softening when Nnoitra began to thrust. Grimmjow tensed around him and groaned.

.

Szayel squirmed, meeting first Nnoitra's gaze and then Grimmjow's own, which he kept. He was very conscious of his neglected arousal, which lay in prominence against his stomach. Blood covered his thighs, parts of his torso, and his cheek. It was even seeping into his Hollow hole. This was a curious and stimulating sensation, which made him shiver. Szayel's nipples became erect and he twisted his body, trying for some kind of friction as he did his best to satisfy both himself and his voyeurs.

.

Nnoitra grabbed Grimmjow by the hips, pulling him back to meet each rock of his pelvis. He watched Szayel on the table, grinning contentedly at how he writhed in his bonds. One dark eye followed the line of blood into the small hole between Szayel's hips. He envied it, remembering how the Eighth Espada reacted with his tongue sliding along the man's inner walls, and promised himself that he would clean the blood from that skin as soon as he was finished with Grimmjow.

His pace picked up, his breath heaving in his chest. Nnoitra held Szayel in his sight, the image keeping him excited and compelling him to pound deeper with each thrust.

.

Grimmjow couldn't help the moan that slipped past his lips. Nnoitra's rhythm was quickening and it had something constricting in the pit of his stomach. It didn't help that Szayel was directly in his line of vision, writhing on the table. He scowled, a particularly intense thrust causing his breath to hitch in his throat.

Painted eyes fell on the scientist's straining cock and he licked his lips, realizing now how painfully hard he was himself. Unconsciously, he pushed back, struggling for friction and instead driving Nnoitra deeper into himself, scratching an itch that he had been craving. The cry that ripped at his throat caught him off guard and his body met the hard surface once more.

.

Denial had a stimulating effect on Szayel. He had observed this trend in specimens in the past, and was now experiencing it first hand. A marvelous ordeal. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room in tandem with the groans and panting breaths coming from the two men so close to him. Szayel licked his lips as he watched the show, his gaze darting from Nnoitra to Grimmjow to where their bodies met and clashed. He could imagine just how the Sexta would be feeling at this moment and it sent a thrill through his body to twitch his cock once more. Szayel raised a leg, bent at the knee, in the hope of providing some relief, but it was of little comfort. Yet he did not mind. Anticipation might have been torture, but it couldn't have been more exquisite.

.

Nnoitra glanced up and over the Sexta's bucking hips to watch as Szayel fought for relief. He was exceptionally proud of himself for pinning the scientist down in such a vulnerable position, and while it had begun as a game, he was well aware that it had since become something much darker. His grin widened with Szayel's adjustments, knowing full well that anything he attempted would never satisfy him in the way that Nnoitra had planned. Just the thought caused him to smile, and he altered his position slightly, entering Grimmjow from a different angle, propelling himself deeper and rolling his hips each time he pulled out.

He felt Grimmjow shudder beneath him and ran a hand out over his back; the touch was gentle at first, though it was quick to become aggressive and he was soon scoring his nails down tanned flesh.

.

Grimmjow was also keeping a sharp eye on the Eighth Espada.

His body already felt weaker due to his bindings and the choker around his neck. Keeping up was more tiring than he let on. His breath came in short heaves that mimicked the rhythm of the forceful beating inside of him, consisting of Nnoitra's thrusts and his own heavy pulse. He clenched his jaw tighter, swallowing the would-be gasps, refusing to pant like a dog. It was only when the Quinta hit him in a new way that the stifled groan passed his lips.

This was not the friction that he had been hoping for, though it seemed to be causing a similar response. He tensed and grit his teeth again, feeling his hips move on their own to bring about that delicious pressure.

.

It caught him off guard, but the simple pushing back of Grimmjow's lower body to his own had him stiffening. He held up his motions, watching Szayel knowingly as his hips moved faster, the sound of their flesh meeting driving him crazy. Nnoitra reached up to snake his fingers through the Sexta's hair, tugging roughly with each slap of skin. His other hand scraped down Grimmjow's back, hooking into the dip of the man's Hollow hole and using the leverage to keep himself upright. His eye fell to the Octava's body and he could practically taste the blood and sweat against his tongue. Nnoitra rolled quickly over the edge, jerking inside of the other man with his delectable release. His hips slowed, stopping entirely only when his body went rigid.

There was a brief moment where he caught his breath, and then he was pulling out with a slick sound and turning to rest his feet on the floor.

.

Szayel was infinitely glad he had the foresight to record this. Each movement of Nnoitra's hips, each groan falling from the Sexta's mouth, everything was his. All of it. And he couldn't have been more enthused. As Grimmjow continued to take the Quinta's thick cock over and over again, Szayel's eyes rolled back into his head. He imagined himself in-between them, inside them, everywhere. Such a delectable feast for his senses. He could see it all. What made it even more thrilling was that they were both marionettes dancing in the palm of his hand. The others craved that kind of power and control, but, of course, he was the one to actually possess it. It was only natural, but exciting nonetheless.

Szayel rolled his tongue out to wet his lips as he heard that telltale noise, that hitching breath, come from Nnoitra's mouth. He looked up to find one very satisfied Espada, with his partner the exact opposite. Exactly as planned. Szayel's abdominal muscles tightened in anticipation and he smirked once more.

.

Grimmjow couldn't fight the shiver trailing from the base of his spine as Nnoitra finished inside of him. That sensation alone had him shutting out the pain and the tension that had been thrumming through his body like a heartbeat. He arched his back, expecting that it wouldn't be much longer before he could feel some relief, craving nothing more than for the ache in his groin to dissipate. The moan was forming in the back of his throat when Nnoitra pulled out and backed off completely.

His entire body shook. And the agonizing throb of his cock felt more intense than before, now that he had lost the possibility of release. Fighting for words, he contemplated pleading. But nothing that he could say would help, he realized, and so he simply cursed under his breath and tightened up.

.

Nnoitra hardly needed to adjust in order to get off of the table, his legs reaching the floor even as he sat on the surface. Nnoitra bent down for his hakama, using it to wipe himself off, shuddering at his own hand against his still-sensitive skin. He walked around to the front of the table, leering down at Szayel, his tongue running out idly over his bottom lip, before turning to the Sexta. He could sense how desperately Grimmjow wanted to tear him to pieces and grinned.

"Not bad," he said, not bothering to hide his patronizing tone. He glanced down, a fingernail digging in between his teeth. "Don't think I'm doin' this fer you," he started. He gave a nod to the bound man behind him. "This one just pisses me off."

He slapped Grimmjow across the cheek, not hard but enough to leave a hand print. Nnoitra ignored the Sexta's confused expression and turned on his heel, looking down at Szayel with a malicious smile. He made a point of appearing to come to Szayel's aid, but reached over him to untie the cord from around the leg of the table. With it in hand, he pulled Szayel into a sitting position and then to his feet, tugging excessively on the bindings simply for the sake of proving his point. Nnoitra yanked him to the table where the Sixth Espada remained, grabbing a fistful of pink hair and pushing the scientist to his knees. "Don't make me hafta tie you up under there too," he said, holding in a chuckle. He gave a light kick to Szayel's back, urging him beneath the surface.

Nnoitra met Grimmjow's eyes briefly. "And don't bite," he added. "I hate dealin' with an angry pussy."

.

Szayel enjoyed the sensation of the chords against his skin. They were far from being able to break it due to his Hierro, but he could still feel them just as well. Szayel allowed Nnoitra to pull him, stumbling after him to keep up his weakened facade. The hand in his hair was excessive as he had tailored this role to meet his own needs, but he relished it anyway. Still, it wasn't as if he would let Nnoitra have the last word.

"Are you even capable of stooping so low, hmm?" Szayel said, and chuckled at his own little joke within a joke. Nevertheless, he followed the Quinta's lead and slipped under the table. His gaze locked on to Grimmjow's straining erection as he kneeled in front of it. Szayel found it to be even bigger than he remembered. This task would be a little difficult for anyone else without the use of their hands, but his mastery of this art left him well at ease.

Szayel leaned in close, making sure to ghost warm breath along Grimmjow's shaft and balls, before he licked each in turn. He took one of the man's balls into his mouth and sucked, massaging it with his lips and tongue for some time before paying the same attention to the other. Szayel then licked his way up the Sexta's shaft before taking the engorged head in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around it a few times before slowly beginning to take entire thing into his mouth. When his lips finally, belatedly met Grimmjow's balls, he began to hum. Szayel kept this up as he began sucking in earnest, his head bobbing at a fast pace as he took Grimmjow's cock into his mouth and down his throat as far as it could go. Fortunately for all involved, Szayel had no semblance of a gag reflex whatsoever.

.

Nnoitra watched as the smaller man crawled beneath the table, irritated by the fact that, even on his knees, Szayel was still acting like an obstinate bastard. When the other man's words reached his ears, he was already seething.

"Stop bein' such a prick," he yelled, kicking the leg of the table. Bending over, he watched just until Szayel's tongue reached the bound Espada's skin, standing upright with a boost of satisfaction. "And quit runnin' yer mouth or I'll forget it's the only good part about ya."

.

Grimmjow had been dubious since the moment Nnoitra looked him directly in the eye. It was obvious that the other two had some sort of past and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. His interest in the scientist had dropped significantly since waking up here. If getting Szayel into bed with him meant going through all of this, he would settle for the Octava's brother and never look back.

A hot tongue against him, however, effaced any negative thoughts. Grimmjow felt his body truly begin to relax at the slow motions, at the delicious heat that enveloped him; it spread out over his body, his back arching, his toes curling. Perhaps it was because of his severed reiatsu or because of everything that he had endured up until this point, but Szayel's mouth around him now, the low hum, the wet suction, felt better than he could have imagined. He moved his hips steadily, savoring the sensation of his dick slipping deeper between Szayel's lips.

Nnoitra was talking loudly, saying nothing of importance, and it threatened to shatter his best efforts at loosening up completely. Raising his head, he glared at the Quinta, his voice gruff and lazy when he spoke.

"Shut the fuck up already."

.

Szayel was completely focused on his task. Imperfections would not be allowed. As amusing as Nnoitra could be, these interruptions were now simply unacceptable.

He allowed Grimmjow to thrust into his mouth and thusly set the pace. Szayel moved with him, his tongue swirling nonstop. He could sense that the other man would not last long, but did not mind. He had already gotten so much use out of him already that it wasn't important. For the next stage of his plan, he wanted the Sexta to enjoy himself to the fullest. If he became aroused again after this, Szayel would take care of him again-while making it appear to be Nnoitra's idea, of course.

.

Nnoitra snarled as he watched the pleasure wash over the other man's body. The Sexta should have been thanking him; if it wasn't for how good Szayel looked on his knees, Grimmjow would have remained on that table, unsatisfied and begging by the time they were finished. The defiance was truly what annoyed him and he made no move to hide it, backhanding the Espada across the face when he spoke out. While the sound was gratifying, Grimmjow's indifference took the fun out of it. Gritting his teeth, Nnoitra let out a noise of disapproval, waiting restlessly on the other two with an envious eye.

.

Lifting his hips, Grimmjow thrust avidly into Szayel's mouth. It felt like the first truly gentle touch he had received since he woke up in the lab, and that only amplified his craving for more.

Nnoitra was easy enough to ignore, even the violent slap of his hand. Instead, Grimmjow focused on the tongue that teased him, the breath that fell in pants from his open mouth, the wet sound of his cock pulling out and sliding deliciously back in. He felt a shiver spread out along his back and arched at the sensation. His hips moved more quickly, desperately, his entire body in need of release. The sound of his pelvis against the table accompanied his hastening breath. Szayel's mouth was doing dangerous things to him, setting him on edge. It was with a few more swirls of his tongue that Grimmjow lost himself in the divine pleasure. His muscles tensed and his hips jerked as he came hard, a deep growl fighting past his clenched teeth.

His motions ceased. Sated, he settled against the table, realizing only now how weak he currently was. The pain flooded his focus, threatened to drown out the blissful haze that he currently found himself in, and he shivered. Grimmjow relaxed now, simply because he could do nothing else, an exhausted sigh issuing from his throat as his head hit the pillow.

.

While it angered him, watching Grimmjow's ultimate satisfaction had reignighted his own passion. Nnoitra scoffed. At least Szayel was good for _something_.

He hardly waited for the other man to come down from his high; walking to the table, he pounded a fist against the surface, the noise certainly echoing louder to the Octava beneath it. His foot tapped impatiently.

"C'mon out, Granz," he called, his condescending tone thick with an unnerving exuberance. "I ain't done with you yet."

.

Szayel took in all of the Sexta's desire and licked him clean with long, sure strokes of his tongue when he was finished. He was hardly done with this when Nnoitra hit the table, the sound jarring against his nerves and setting his teeth on edge. He grimaced, but came out nonetheless. Szayel licked his lips in a manner that could only be described as lascivious as he played up his own satisfaction. His hands might have hung useless in their bonds as he conformed to his role, but he was far from helpless.

"So _commanding_, Quinta. But what is it exactly you have accomplished with that control?" For the moment, his true feelings and the part of his character were overlapping. He smirked as he climbed on the table next to the Sexta. Szayel splayed himself against the man in the mockery of an embrace. He swirled his tongue along the pulse point where neck met torso before beginning to suck on it. Grimmjow's skin against his own was warm, a line of fire down his entire torso where their bodies met.

Szayel kept Nnoitra's gaze with his own mocking one. Taunting the Quinta was certainly fun, as were the results of said games.

.

It surprised Grimmjow, but he had almost fallen asleep from fatigue after the two men were finished with him. He noticed the table shift and peeled his eyes open slightly, his head heavy and his body worn. When Szayel pressed up against him, he grunted. The soft tongue along his skin felt wonderful but he could do almost nothing to reciprocate, and even without his bindings, Grimmjow couldn't be certain that he possessed the strength at the moment. And while it was already beginning to trigger his arousal, he found himself irritated by the fact that he would be forced to go through more of his fellow Espada's sadistic routine.

.

Nnoitra's features hardened. He hadn't expected the scientist to cooperate, but that didn't stop him from grinding his teeth with each word that spewed from Szayel's lips. It was becoming more difficult to distinguish between their game and their legitimate battle for dominance. Simply being conscious of their plan was failing him and he felt the need to prove his superiority despite the fact that Szayel had given him free reign.

He watched as the Octava licked his lips clean, as he moved onto the table, as he pressed his mouth to Grimmjow's skin, and Nnoitra's breath picked up. He knew that it shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did, not with their agreement, but Szayel was too convincing.

Cocking an eyebrow, Nnoitra gave a knowing nod of his head.

He ignored the question, taking a step towards the table where both of the tied-up men lay. Holding Szayel's stare, he gripped Grimmjow's chin in his thumb and forefinger and lowered himself, pushing his tongue between the Sexta's lips. If Szayel was going to try and bait him, then he would do the same. Szayel was changing the rules of their game and Nnoitra was more than eager to play along.

.

It was certainly a surprise to see Nnoitra willingly kiss the Sexta. Szayel had expected some act of violence, but it appeared the Quinta was learning more subtlety.

Not that he minded.

Szayel rolled himself to where his hands would be able to reach Grimmjow's bindings and began to untie him. All the while, he kept his gaze locked with Nnoitra's own. When Grimmjow's arms were free, Szayel took the first and began massaging it. He worked his way to the man's shoulders and began to knead them free of all their kinks as well.

.

Grimmjow could hardly believe that he was being freed. The way the two Espada leered over him told him that it was not for his own sake, but merely to further their own twisted agendas. He knew that his doubts about Szayel's mouth against his skin were not misplaced; that shouldn't have surprised him.

What did catch him off guard was Nnoitra's abnormally long tongue in his mouth.

He scoffed, pulling his head back as far as his bindings would allow. Had it not been for the flavor of blood- he assumed a mixture of the two men- he would have hated everything about it. As it was, the coppery taste combined with Szayel's massaging hands kindled a fire in the Sexta that none of them would be pleased to deal with. Blood made him vicious. He bit down on the tattooed tongue, satisfied when the other man pulled away. And as soon as his hands were free, he reached out to grab the Quinta's neck in his grasp, his eyes lighting in a wild craze. It took all of his remaining strength to tighten his fingers around Nnoitra's throat.

"You get me out of this _now_," he demanded. His voice was low and raspy, though he hoped his tactic held up. Grimmjow licked his lips and glared. "Or I'll rip your fuckin' head off."

.

Nnoitra's body tensed as the hand around his neck contracted. He fought the urge to choke and instead forced a grin in the hopes of appearing in control despite his circumstances.

"Che." He was practically whispering, the words struggling to free themselves past his closing throat. "-thought we lost ya there." When Grimmjow's fingers pressed harder, he nodded, though it was almost unnoticeable in his position.

"Lemme go," he coughed, "and I'll get ya out."

There was a moment of pause where Grimmjow did not look away or loosen his grip; Nnoitra eyed him carefully, losing the last of his air. Just as his vision began to blur around the edges, he was released. He doubled over, heaving breaths that had his chest expanding doubly. Raising a hand to massage his own throat, he glanced over at the Sixth Espada, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

"Don't run," His gaze moved to Szayel. "I'm gonna need yer help with this one."

.

Szayel watched the two with half-lidded eyes as they fought for dominance. Such simple creatures, so easily manipulated. But he enjoyed their attentions.

"Allow me," he said, as he slithered down Grimmjow's body and began to undo the first restraint. When one leg was free, he reached under it to a secret panel and slid it back to reveal a built-in container of salve. Szayel dipped his fingers in until they were coated in their entirety, and then reached over to smear the healing aid over and between Grimmjow's buttocks. Deft fingers explored already familiar territory as he passed the man's sphincter, spreading the healing as far and wide as he could with his hands the way they were. When he was finished, Szayel snaked up Grimmjow's body, placing open-mouthed kisses along his back. He then leaned in to run his tongue around the rim of Grimmjow's Hollow hole, panting with the strain from his own arousal.

.

When Grimmjow let go of the other man's throat, his hand fell back to the table. It was amazing how weak he felt while his reiatsu was cut off, even more astonishing that his physical strength was lacking because of it. He didn't have the energy to fight for freedom from the table. Even when his leg was unchained, he stayed in place and hoped that being headstrong would be enough to will motion into his tired limbs.

As soon as Szayel began to rub him down, he cursed. His arousal was sucking the vigor from the rest of his body, energy that he needed if he was ever going to get out of here. Grimmjow scowled as lips met his skin, groaned roughly when that tongue circled his Hollow hole; he couldn't help the way his body reacted, pushing up into the touch as his lust intensified with each stroke of Szayel's tongue.

.

Nnoitra eyed the scientist, scanning his face for a clue of what he had in mind. As he watched the Octava's ministrations, he raised an eyebrow. Nnoitra was not one to plan things out, but he had always kept a specific goal in mind when it came to Szayel. And the way that Grimmjow responded had him worrying that his own confidence may have betrayed him.

His heels clicked against the floor as he moved to the end of the table; he unlatched the two shackles holding the Sixth Espada down, before stepping back. He had no intention of mimicking the attention that Szayel was applying. Grimmjow was nothing to him, simply a means to an end, bait for himself and Szayel to use against each other.

Nnoitra stepped towards Szayel, a grin plastered across his face, and pulled at the cord still tying his hands. He dragged him off of the table, yanking him to his feet before the Sexta's eyes. Lowering his head, he licked along Szayel's collarbone, his tongue gliding away from the man's throat, and sucked at the junction of his neck and shoulder briefly before biting down hard and drawing blood.

.

Szayel kept sucking and licking and massaging until he felt tension in the chord tying his hands. He was drawn back and to his feet, the sensation sending a pleasant buzz through his nerves and to his groin. Szayel arched into the touch as Nnoitra began to attend to him. His moan was long and low because he had been turned on for so very long without proper attention being paid to him. Servicing Grimmjow had only made it worse. And now, Nnoitra, the centerpiece of his vivid and lustful attraction, was finally giving him exactly what he needed.

Szayel ground their bodies together as best he could without the use of his hands. He was done with comebacks for the moment as he was getting exactly what he wanted-Grimmjow sure to join in soon enough. The thought brought a smile to his lips.

.

Grimmjow looked up, blue eyes widening at the sight before him. He wet his lips, scanning Szayel's body hungrily, his breath hitching at the how broken the other man appeared. As soon as Nnoitra bit down, he could feel himself tensing. That familiar smell of blood set him off. Straining, he pushed himself up onto his arms, glad that his fellow Espada were too preoccupied to see that he needed a moment to catch his breath; from there, he rose to his knees, gritting his teeth at the pain in his legs and the aching of his joints. It took him a few minutes to muster the strength, but when his feet finally reached the floor, he grinned wildly in satisfaction.

.

Nnoitra held in a groan at the bloodied body sliding against his own. As pleasurable as it had been, he was not going to let Szayel get off that easily. He stood up, licking a spot of blood from the corner of his mouth, and took a step back. He wanted to keep their distance. It was times like these that he appreciated his height: holding Szayel's hands up above his head proved effortless with his long arms. When Grimmjow shifted beside them, Nnoitra glanced over.

He hated the man. More than most of the people that he hated. And he had not meant to share Szayel. But until he could get the Eighth Espada under his complete and utter control, Grimmjow would have to do. He cocked his head towards the man in his hold and gave another tug on the cord for good measure.

.

Grimmjow was leaning on the table for support, still venturing to regain the strength that had left him, when Nnoitra held Szayel out like a prize. He met the bespectacled gaze, his smile widened, and reached a hand up to rip the collar from around his neck.

The force of his suspended reiatsu shot through him all at once. Immediately the energy began to surge through his body, the familiar sensation amplifying the mania that he had felt since arriving here. The pressure pulsed through his veins. He ignored the pain that, only moments ago, had been so apparent, so agonizing. It was nothing now that he recovered his spirit.

Taking a step forward, he eyed the Octava properly, savoring the heat and desire that resonated off of his body. A gravelly, fulfilling cackle tore from his throat, echoing off the walls. It was fiendish and deservedly so, having spent the past few hours with the men that he had. Grimmjow's breath heaved as he squared his shoulders. He raised a fist and punched Szayel in the face, the loud crack that accompanied it sending a shiver down his spine.

.

It was an almost irretrievable loss when Nnoitra pushed him away. He stood waiting, ready, his entire body primed for whatever happened next. He did not, however, anticipate the fist that slammed into his face. Szayel's head flew back as he heard the crunch of the glass shattering in the frames of his mask. Glass which, had he actually lacked access to his reiatsu, would have punctured his skin and possibly torn out an eye. Instead it fell harmlessly to the floor as painful heat spread across his face. He did feel a trickle of blood, but this came from his nose to fall between his lips.

As Szayel raised his head back into its normal position, he licked the blood away and made an approving sound low in his throat. His face was already beginning to swell.

"Mmm...as always, I am impressed with your creativity, Sexta," he said, and chuckled. Before any more damage could be done to it, he turned his head sharply, sending his Hollow mask flying. It skittered on the tile to land a good ten feet away. Had Szayel not been able to repair both his face and his mask, he would have made Grimmjow pay for it and _dearly_. But as it was, this was something easily fixed. After a moment, he turned his languorous gaze to Nnoitra and scanned down his still heavily destroyed chest.

"Still a lot to learn though, hmmm? Perhaps the Quinta can teach you a few things," Szayel said, his patronizing tone in contrast with the way he devoured Nnoitra's body with his eyes. Aside from Szayel's condescension for him, Grimmjow was ignored for the moment. Bad playthings needed to be punished and being deprived of Szayel's regard was certainly damaging.

.

Nnoitra felt the cord pull tightly with Grimmjow's attack. They had deprived and tortured the Sexta up until this point, and so he was not surprised by the man's anger or by his actions; what caught him off guard was the fact that his own loathing for Grimmjow could expand so much with something as simple as a punch. Never losing hold of the ties, he lowered his arm, pushing Szayel against the table and glaring down at Grimmjow.

"Didn't I tell ya to behave?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why don't ya go if yer gonna be so useless?"

.

Grimmjow shook out his hand. When Szayel licked the blood from his lips, he made a move to imitate the motion, stopping when Nnoitra stepped in his way. His rage flared and he was pleased, remembering that he finally possessed his full abilities to take care of it.

"I got unfinished business with him," he said, his tone rough with anger.

For the first time, he was able to see the damage across Nnoitra's chest and he spent a moment too long staring enviously. His gaze moved quickly up the man's body, over to where Szayel stood beside the table, and coming back to Nnoitra, focusing on that one daunting eye. He was eager and brutal with his renewed energy, one hand pushing against the lanky man's body, the other reaching for the cord that held Szayel's hands together. In an instant, Nnoitra was shoved away and he had gained the upper hand; he bent Szayel backwards over the table, his grin fierce.

"Now," he started, his voice prideful. Fury remained his primary emotion, though it was becoming more apparent that lust was what really drove him. Grimmjow lowered his head, licking up the curve of Szayel's jaw to growl low in his ear."_How's about that fuck?_"

.

If he was honest with himself, Szayel was surprised the Quinta hadn't joined in. He wondered if it was some kind of facade, and eventually decided he didn't care. Whatever the case, Nnoitra was his primary source of enjoyment here. It was good to know he didn't have to use his suppressors on him. Far better to have a well-trained plaything, which was what Szayel eventually hoped the Quinta would become. From the looks of things, he was already well on his way there.

Szayel would definitely have to reward him later.

Before he could think too much more on the matter, Grimmjow took his place and forced him to the table. Szayel didn't fight it, for he was still very aroused and relief was relief. Moreover, he had designed the plan this way so that his newest plaything would be satisfied and yet want more. Still, there was a moment of dissatisfaction where he wished it was Nnoitra towering over him, Nnoitra whispering obscenities in his ear, instead of the Sexta.

Szayel didn't dwell on it. Instead, he lashed his own talented tongue out to run it over Grimmjow's ear before he began chewing on it. His efforts were somewhat undermined by the fact he kept Nnoitra's gaze, but Szayel didn't let it bother him.

"Assuming you can handle it," Szayel said, a chuckle ready at the back of his throat. He was slightly tempted to yell for Lumina or one of his other Fraccion to turn on the suppressors. How amusing it would be to see that pride so easily crushed. But now was not the time.

.

Grimmjow was easily irritated by the other man's words. He pressed tighter against Szayel and ground his hips. One hand slipped down the bruised flesh to Szayel's thigh, and he fingered the long laceration there, grunting huskily against skin. He moved lower, kissing and nipping at the skin across Szayel's chest, rolling his tongue out to lap at the salt of sweat and the zest of blood, relishing the taste and showing his appreciation in the form of a moan. Grimmjow was flooded by his sense of dominance, never thinking that his power could vanish as quickly as it had returned. Biting down above Szayel's nipple, his eyes lit, his feral demeanor coming back with the feel of breaking skin.

.

Standing upright, Nnoitra watched as the Sixth Espada hastily took over. It was easy enough for him to look beyond to where Szayel was meeting his eye. He watched the scientist's responses to Grimmjow's cruel motions and grinned. While he had not once intended to share, watching Grimmjow overpower his prey made him realize how tantalizing the idea now seemed. Of course, with Szayel's reiatsu still intact, Grimmjow would not last long.

Nnoitra scanned the room, searching for something that he could use to their advantage, settling on the pile of equipment that he had knocked to the floor earlier. His smile widened. He walked to the other end of the table, bending down to sift through the toys for the piece of metal that had grabbed his attention earlier.

A satisfied hum escaped his throat as he moved back towards the two Espada. Leaning over, completely disregarding whatever intimacy Grimmjow was hoping to create, he slipped a finger beneath Szayel's collar.

"Hey," he started, his voice dangerously low in their crowded space. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to Grimmjow and flashed his teeth. "It's fake."

A moment later, he was pushing the handcuffs against Grimmjow's chest. "Try these."

.

Grimmjow tensed when the Quinta spoke and threatened to take away his shot at revenge. And then the words hit his ears and his eyes widened, his breath coming quickly in anger.

"Are you fuckin' kid-" His thoughts were cut short, the cold metal taking him by surprise. He had no idea why Nnoitra had decided to help him, but didn't think on it long enough to care. A fierce smile parted his lips as he ripped the choker from around Szayel's neck. Forcing himself closer to the other man, he worked the handcuffs around Szayel's wrists and smiled down at him.

"I think I can handle it."

.

Szayel's breath quickened as that mouth and those rough, unforgiving hands explored his body. His gaze left Nnoitra and went to Grimmjow's back, to those powerful muscles rippling under tanned skin. He heard Nnoitra move, but didn't pay any attention to what he was doing. The strong and pleasant attention his body was receiving diverted him.

It wasn't until Nnoitra dangled the handcuffs in his view and slipped a finger under his collar that he realized what had happened. Szayel sighed and rolled his eyes as he allowed Grimmjow to put them on. He shuddered as his sense of reiatsu left him. Szayel suddenly felt so much needier. His wounds, too, began to bleed anew.

"Nnoitra. You have absolutely no talent as a thespian," he said, without any real conviction or concern. After all, he was already getting what he wanted. In fact, he thought, as sensations heightened throughout his body, this might be even better. It was only this that kept him from calling out to have both Grimmjow and Nnoitra's reiatsu sealed.

He would, as always, play along for the moment.

.

Nnoitra paid no mind to what Szayel was saying. Instead, he leaned over the Sexta's shoulder, waiting in anticipation for the reaction that would surely follow the locking of handcuffs. Hhis gaze never faltered. It piqued his curiosity. The difference, though minor, seemed obvious enough to him. Perhaps it was because of his extended encounter with Szayel that he was so aware now of his changing state. When blood began to pool on that stained thigh, he bent down, running a long finger through it and sucking it into his mouth.

.

Grimmjow felt as Szayel's spirit pressure dissolved. He hadn't known that the handcuffs would have this affect. But he smiled at it, pleased with the advantage that he was now certain he had.

Sword-calloused hands slipped over Szayel's skin, gripping at his waist and pulling him closer. His nails grazed lower, digging into the backs of Szayel's thighs, spreading him apart and using his own lower body to raise him onto the table to sit, while he stood between his open legs. Grimmjow could not resist rocking his hips, delighting at the friction and the heat emanating off of Szayel's skin. He craned his neck to run his tongue out and over the bite mark that Nnoitra had left in his shoulder, licking at the wound before breathing slowly against it. Lips kissed downward, his hands moving to push against Szayel's chest until he was flat on his back atop the table once again. His eyes flashed with untamed elation, following the map of blood along creamy skin, before moving again to taste.

.

As the man spread him, Szayel became even more aware of the enhanced sensations his body was experiencing. Both explored his wounds, touching and licking, and he could feel his face heating up with a rosy flush. It was unprecedented. His head dropped back to the table as he fought to control his breathing. In that instant, instinct warred against his rational mind. He flexed his legs, drawing them up so that his heels rested on the table. The motion spread him ever more open and he was acutely aware of the places where Grimmjow's body touched and ground against his own, especially his naked erection. Against his will, a throaty moan slipped forth.

Szayel vowed that he would conduct further research in the matter. There was definitely something to be had here.

.

Nnoitra leered down at the Octava. The handcuffs were turning out to be a better choice than he had imagined. Beating Szayel at his own game had begun as, and continued to be, his primary goal throughout their recurring confrontations.

Nothing had changed then, even as he frustratedly watched while Grimmjow replaced him. The battle for dominance still remained; he still considered Szayel's reddening face and panting a success. Nnoitra took a step back, his tongue gliding over his teeth as he looked on, awaiting each unrestrained response with heady fervor.

.

Grimmjow was surprised to see a faint blush spread out over Szayel's cheeks. Apparently the loss of his collar meant that he had given up on trying to conceal his reactions. The Sexta's breath picked up to match the Espada beneath him. He licked his lips at the newly exposed skin. Not one to pass up an opportunity, he bent down, leaving a wet trail from the base of Szayel's throat up and under his chin, where he gave a quick bite.

When Szayel moved his feet to the table, displaying himself wantonly, Grimmjow smirked.

"I always figured you for a slut," he said, sounding cocky and making no effort to conceal it. His rough hands were already moving over Szayel's thighs, down his stomach, finally resting on the table on either side of the other man's waist.

His gaze drifted between open legs, staring hungrily at Szayel's exposed entrance and licking his lips at his straining cock. His own arousal intensified and he lifted a hand, spitting into his palm before reaching down to pump himself, spreading the beads of fluid at the tip of his cock down and around his shaft. The motion, as well as the sight before him, ripped a moan from his throat. He bent over and pressed his mouth to Szayel's ear, positioning his cock against hot flesh.

"I owe you from earlier," he said, a malicious gleam in his eye. It was the only warning that he gave before pushing forward, growling as he sank deeper, inch by torturously slow inch.

.

Ordinarily, Szayel might have offered a scathing comeback, something about the weakness and limitations inherent in stark morality, and about how pathetic it was that the Sexta still clung to such human tenants. Instead, he waited with bated breath for Grimmjow to enter him. That mouth and those hands on his flesh would have driven him mad if he hadn't already expanded his mind beyond such trite definitions long before the occurrence.

"_Try_ not to disappoint me," came his belated answer.

He wanted desperately to claw and bite and tear into the man, but knew it would be almost impossible with those handcuffs on. Before he could settle on an alternative, Grimmjow was pushing inside him. The sensation and accompanying rough whisper were enough to send his head flying back once more. The stretching was much more painful now, almost enough to override any feeling of pleasure. But it was this very intensity that he had craved, thusly manipulating the others into giving it to him. Szayel shuddered as he tried to relax and force his body to accommodate such a large intrusion. His eyelids fluttered and he could feel the flush beginning to creep down his neck as his cock twitched between their bodies.

.

Nnoitra looked on, unaware of the fact that, with Grimmjow's initial thrust, he had been holding his breath. It wasn't until a thick grunt passed his lips that he realized it, sucking in a deep breath to compensate. He watched Szayel closely, feeling his body tense as Szayel's head fell back, at the man's shivering, at the blush that sneaked across his skin.

Walking around to the other side of the table, Nnoitra's one demeaning eye scanned the body before him. He ignored, for once, the bites and scratches, instead focusing on the smooth, untouched skin that had yet to be stained but was now reddening with Szayel's apparent desire. Knotting his hand through the man's short, pink locks, he gave a tug, disregarding Grimmjow's intentions. He only pulled Szayel a few inches closer, but with the narrowness of the table, had left his head off of the edge with no support. Nnoitra looked down at him and grinned.

.

Grimmjow had almost forgotten that the Quinta was in the room. His attentions were exclusive to the Espada beneath him.

When he was fully sheathed, he held himself there, basking in the pressure of muscles contracting and relaxing around him as Szayel tried to adjust. His own breathing had quickened.

Szayel's words did nothing but heighten his anger, urging him on all the more in order to prove himself. He snarled and pulled back almost entirely, ready to make the other man regret ever torturing him, and he was surprised to feel his cock slip out completely as Szayel was dragged back. He glared up at Nnoitra, hands gripping Szayel's bloodied thighs and fighting against the other man for control.

"Fuck off," he barked, already repositioning himself and sliding the head of his cock into Szayel. "He's taken."

.

Nnoitra ground his teeth at the Sexta's remark. He pulled back, enough so that Szayel's head hung over the edge while still leaving the other two joined. His hand tightened in pink hair, nails scratching softly at Szayel's scalp. His other hand ran up Szayel's neck, fingers curling around his chin and Nnoitra lowered himself, savoring the heat of the other man's mouth against his own and pushing past lips with his lengthy tongue. He bit at a lower lip, pulling it back with him until it slipped from between his teeth as he stood upright.

"There's plenty fer both of us."

.

The loss of sensation when Grimmjow's cock slid from him was equally intense, almost devastating. He let out a low whine, sounding far more needy than he had ever really felt or intended. Any real semblance of rational thought was pushed to the back of his mind as he let his instincts take precedence. Szayel hardly noticed the arguing. The hand in his hair was a different matter. Szayel gasped at the delectable feeling, something that he might not ordinarily have enjoyed quite so much. His head was pulled back and then Nnoitra's lips took his own. Szayel's tongue warred with the Quinta's until it pulled away, his low moan at Grimmjow's reentry swallowed by that mouth. He licked his lips, savoring the faint taste of blood to be found, and allowed his head to hang. After a moment, he reached out with cuffed hands and caressed Nnoitra's thigh and anything else he could reach.

.

Grimmjow decided to simply tune Nnoitra out. It was easy enough with the sounds falling from the Octava's lips, the gasps and moans shooting straight to his groin, amplifying his need and compelling him deeper into the other man. He pushed forcefully until he was fully enveloped. The feel of Szayel clenched tightly around him coaxed another harsh groan from his throat and he could not fight himself when his hips pulled back; Grimmjow drove forward roughly, feeling the table shift with the weight of his movements. Gripping Szayel by the backs of his thighs, the Sexta spread him further, hauling him closer to meet each one of his fierce thrusts. He licked his lips and grinned wildly.

.

Nnoitra chuckled at the pathetic, deprived noises that Szayel was making. Just as he had imagined, the Eighth Espada's vulnerability was more than satisfying.

He leaned over, purposely giving no reaction to the hands against his skin, and worked his fingers over the bruised flesh of Szayel's abdomen. His ministrations were soft at first, but he pressed harder with each slide of his fingers across muscle, the touch eventually hardening until his nails were tearing at skin. Nnoitra's back arched at the familiar sensation. He lowered his head, long strands of black hair falling over his face and against the man beneath him. His tongue brushed over new wounds, licking a hot trail farther along Szayel's body, and his fingers pulled back, painting the Octava's skin with his own blood.

.

Szayel's body rocked between the two men as Grimmjow's powerful thrusts jarred him. There were hands all over him, pulling, massaging, and finally tearing his flesh. Szayel was in a world of his own as he enjoyed the reward of his successful manipulation. His back arched as Nnoitra leaned in to tongue his handiwork, and he wrapped his legs around Grimmjow as he attempted to draw the man further inside. Then those fingers continued their wonderful torture. Szayel felt his own warm blood sliding along his skin, where it quickly cooled. He moaned with each jarring impact of Grimmjow's body against his own, and panted the rest of the time. Szayel continued to play with Nnoitra's thighs, his grip becoming tighter as he fought for air.

.

Nnoitra felt as the hold tightened against his thighs and stood up. Wiping his mouth on the back of his arm, he took a step back, one hand wrapping around his cock. His eye focused on Szayel, the rise of his chest, the flush across his cheeks, and the way that his lips parted with each gasp of breath; Nnoitra bent down to kiss at the corner of Szayel's mouth, running his tongue out idly. He twisted his wrist and his entire body tensed.

Breaking their contact, he rose once more, rolling his shoulders and loosening his hips. He moved forward, holding himself over that open mouth, his other hand resting on Szayel's shoulder and thumbing circles into his skin. A deep inhalation had his body relaxing if only briefly, every muscle constricting when he brushed over Szayel's lips.

.

Grimmjow grit his teeth. His breath was mimicking the Octava's and coming heavily, though his was accompanied by hoarse groans with each thrust. The Sexta had no qualms about displaying his immense satisfaction; the fact that Szayel had finally begun to truly respond to his movements only intensified Grimmjow's already-magnified sense of power. A harsh laugh fell from his lips at the legs around his waist and, though he complied, he did not overlook it.

"Fuck me," he started, his voice breaking somewhat. "You really are a slut."

He chuckled again, deeper in his chest, and picked up his pace.

.

Had Szayel's eyes been closed, he would have regretted the loss of contact. But as it was, the inverted view he had of Nnoitra stroking his own cock had him shivering with need even though Grimmjow was rubbing him pleasantly raw already.

Szayel tightened his legs around the man's waist. He loved the feel of those strong muscles expanding and contracting under his skin. Szayel responded eagerly to Nnoitra's lips on his own by sticking his own tongue out to meet him.

The sound of own perfect voice coupled with Grimmjow's rough exhalations and his brusque comments made him cry out all the louder. This was amplified even further when the man picked up the pace. By the time Nnoitra's cock touched his mouth, Szayel was more than ready for it. He opened wide, exhaling lewdly against sensitive flesh before kissing it and then running his tongue along whatever he could reach.

.

Nnoitra let out a quiet grunt when that hot tongue slipped over him. And while he had wanted to move slowly and truly savor it, Grimmjow's pace was throwing him off. The two other men were breathing much too heavily, too loudly, too quickly for him to be steady. His hand grazed over Szayel's collarbone to tickle his throat, before he forced himself between lips and into the heat of Szayel's mouth. The tongue against his cock had him doubling over, both hands gripping the metal table for purchase. He waited, failing to catch his breath but trying to match it with the other Espada. And when he found their pace, he pulled out, rolling his hips forward just as Grimmjow did.

It took him a moment to adjust to the speed, having to move his lower body in rhythm with the Sexta's thrusting. But when their timing finally coincided, he let his head fall forward, relishing in the way that his muscles tightened with each smooth glide of his cock against Szayel's lips.

.

Szayel breathed deeply, knowing he would not get very much air after the Quinta shoved himself down his throat. The entry was quick, with Szayel tantalizing each inch of Nnoitra's cock as he pushed inside. Grimmjow aided his motions by consistently pushing him forward and toward the other man. Soon, both Espada were thrusting in tandem.

Szayel felt like he might explode from the overwhelming sensation of being so filled. He moans were short and continuous around Nnoitra's cock as the man pushed deep into his throat and then pulled out with rapid, forceful movements that matched the Sexta's own. Szayel's erection was painfully engorged. As his body crunched in on itself with the force of the two men pistoning into him, it bounced heavily against his stomach. Still, he somehow found the concentration necessary to apply all of his considerable talent to Nnoitra's cock. Szayel swirled his tongue around it every time it exited his body in addition to sucking to keep up a consistent amount of pressure on the organ.

.

Grimmjow kept up his savage motions, short, sharp breaths escaping his lips with each thrust. His gaze ran along Szayel's body, following the lines of definition that had been smeared with red, over each bite mark or bruise, before settling on his exposed throat, watching as it expanded every time he drove forward. The vision alone had him quickening; he remembered the way that Szayel's deft tongue worked over him. His need for release was as strong now as it had been then.

Grimmjow let out a groan when Szayel's lips curled to suck at the head of Nnoitra's cock. Muscles tightening, he came hard, his hips continuing to rock until the pressure became too much and he finally had to slow enough to catch his breath. He held himself inside of the other man, not ready to move or break their contact, and used his grip on Szayel's thighs as an anchor.

.

When the Sexta began to move more rapidly, Nnoitra adjusted the timing of his own hips to match.

He had been regarding the Octava's body, studying the way that it responded to this torture. He wanted to feel muscles pulling beneath bruised skin, to feel the resonating warmth beneath his fingers, to feel the tear of flesh and taste blood on his tongue. But his hands remained planted on the edge of the table, Nnoitra's arms straining as the rest of his body tensed. The heat and suction of Szayel's mouth felt amazing and he looked down to watch as his cock slipped against wet lips. The sight held his focus until he felt the table shift one last time, finally free to move at his own pace. He slowed himself, though he only managed to savor it for a few more thrusts before he came against Szayel's tongue.

After a moment, he pulled out, a shiver racing up his spine at the wet sound. And, remembering his vow from earlier, Nnoitra leaned over, one long finger grazing the inside of Szayel's Hollow hole before he sucked it between his lips and grinned.

.

Szayel held on for as long as he could, but when Grimmjow's release exploded into him and filled him with additional pressure and warmth, it sent him over the edge. Szayel came as both continued to rock into his body. His release was intense enough that his back arched completely off the table and his mind went blank. Although he forgot himself, it didn't matter. Nnoitra came down his throat a second later. Szayel had to return to his senses enough to make sure he swallowed everything. It wasn't easy, but he managed it. When Nnoitra withdrew, he collapsed to the table, panting hard. Szayel hung boneless, his arms flopping down over his head, but he didn't care. His body still thrummed with pleasure. There was a pleasant buzzing in his ears which muted the chorus of gasps that filled the room. For once, he felt utterly sated.

.

Grimmjow was fighting to slow his breathing when Szayel was overpowered by his own release. It had the Sexta growling in satisfaction. After a moment, when the smaller man had relaxed limply, he decided that he was safe for now from whatever sadistic plan Szayel could think up; he mimicked his fellow Espada, loosening up and releasing his hold on Szayel's legs. When he pulled out of the other man, his breath caught in his throat. Szayel looked so good like this.

.

Nnoitra watched the sated Octava lay back against the table.

He stood upright and squared his shoulders. "Grimmjow," he started, idly. His voice was rough from exhaustion. Letting his head fall back, he turned, one intimidating eye settling on the Sexta. "Go."

.

Grimmjow snarled. Of course, he had been waiting to hear that single word since he woke up strapped to the table, but not from Nnoitra. Still, he had already taken what he needed. Standing up, he ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the bead of sweat that slid down the side of his cheek. "Che." He scoffed. "Gladly."

He looked down at Szayel, taking one last look at his destroyed body. One hand moved over a bloodied thigh, rubbing the black ink of Szayel's tattoo.

"It's been fun, Granz," he said, his tone thick with sarcasm. "Let's do it again real soon." He ran a finger over his tongue and flashed a final scowl to Nnoitra before he turned and left.

.

As Grimmjow vanished from the room, Nnoitra let out a sharp breath, cursing the Sexta's arrogance. He moved to the table and glanced down, focusing on a drop of blood that slid slowly over Szayel's chest. He licked at it, humming against the hot skin beneath his lips. His gaze moved up the other man's body, his grin returning. Kicking the leg of the table, Nnoitra leaned over to scan Szayel's face.

"You dead?"

.

Szayel lay there enjoying his afterglow. That was until Nnoitra decided to interrupt him by licking his skin and then kicking the table. The first would have been fine, but at the latter he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Nnoitra. It is unwise to remind me that you have exhausted your one and only use," he said, frowning as he sat up. Now that he had been jarred out of his pleasant haze, Szayel noticed all the aches and pains all over his body. They were much worse than usual. He sighed again. He would have loved to remove the cuffs to relieve himself, but he didn't want to let Nnoitra know it was possible for him to do so. Let the other man have his illusions of control. It served Szayel's purposes very well indeed. As for Grimmjow's absence, it was hardly worth noticing.

After stretching his arms, neck, and back, he turned with a smirk.

"Lest I find _another_ for you." He had no intention of throwing aside such an exhilarating plaything. Not yet at least. But Nnoitra didn't have to know that.

.

Nnoitra scowled at the words. When Szayel sat up, he took a step forward. Reaching out to grab the man's neck in his hand, he thumbed over Szayel's throat, pressing harder along the bruise that he had left at the start of their meeting.

Lowering his head, he bit at Szayel's jaw, leaving his mark and withdrawing just before he broke through skin. Nnoitra angled his head slightly, lips pressing hard against the smaller man's, tongue pushing out to explore the heat and taste of the Octava's mouth. His fingers constricted for just a moment, and then he backed away.

"Right back at ya," he said, his voice low and lazy. His gaze locked onto unmasked eyes and his lips spread with a smirk. "_Szayel_."

The sound of Nnoitra's heels echoed in the room as he walked away, disregarding the clothing that he had tossed aside earlier and neglecting to even acknowledge the handcuffs around the Octava's wrists. When he reached the doorway, he turned back and raised an eyebrow, a brief grin flashing across his face before he disappeared from sight.

After Nnoitra left, the sound of Szayel's laughter filled the laboratory.


	12. Part II: Chapter 5

.

**The Coronation of Self: Part II**

**Chapter Five**

**By: Ryoko & SZP**

Grimmjow buried his face into the mattress. He had been asleep all day after having been utterly exhausted from the night before. His body still ached with the torture he had suffered. It was only because of his fatigue that he had been able to sleep at all. Now, however, he found himself stirring. And with each adjustment of his naked skin against the bed, a pain returned, accompanied by the memory of how he had sustained it; every strain of his shoulders brought back the feel of the bindings that tied his wrists, the muscles in his legs tightened and reminded him of the chains around his ankles, and even tensing forced a shiver up his spine.

He rolled over and ground his teeth at how aroused he had become with the recollections that flooded his mind. The silence in his room did not help. And when the moon outside of his window could not hold his attention, he sat up and threw his covers aside, a frustrated grunt escaping his throat.

As he expected, the corridor outside of his room was empty. He stood for a moment in the dark, relaxing his shoulders and loosening his jaw. He inhaled sharply. Grimmjow moved through the hallway, ignoring the sound of his breath and the feel of the cold floor beneath his bare feet. He stopped in front of the third room on his left and let himself in, slamming the door closed behind him.

He said nothing. Instead, he simply crawled onto the bed, moving over the sleeping form and lowered his head to growl deeply against his Fracción's ear.

Yylfordt pushed his fingers into Szayel's eyes and laughed.

"You won't be needing those anymore, _bro_. Not where you're going," he said, delighting in the feel of viscous fluid rushing out to coat his fingers. Almost better than blood. He smirked.

For the first time in a long time, Yylfordt felt content.

Then Szayel reached up and slammed the door.

Yylfordt jerked awake at the sound, cursing under his breath. He didn't bother turning though, as he felt Grimmjow's hot and heavy reiatsu bathing the room. That could only mean one thing. Yylfordt didn't have time to move and confirm that thought before the man was on him. He felt the warm press of Grimmjow's cock against his back as the Sexta growled in his ear and he grimaced.

"Sleeping," was all he could manage. Any more and it would surely piss the fucker off. Any less and he'd get mauled right where he lay.

.

The single word had him scowling. He expected more of a response from a subordinate, more of an _obedient_ response. Of course, he knew by now of Yylfordt's troublesome manner. It amused him that, after so long, the Fracción still began every one of their meetings with vain defiance: holding him down and convincing him otherwise had become one of Grimmjow's more gratifying hobbies. If he didn't get such satisfaction from fucking the smug expression off of his lesser's face, he would have disposed of him by now.

"Good," Grimmjow replied harshly. "I don't want to hear you runnin' yer mouth."

He pulled at the blankets, rough hands moving to press against exposed skin. Releasing some of his fervid energy, he bit down on Yylfordt's shoulder, fingers slipping lower, nails scraping over familiar flesh. Warm blood reached his tongue and he drew back, licking his lips and grinning at the taste. Painted eyes flashed savagely. Grimmjow's mouth moved to an ear and he breathed deeply as he adjusted his hips. His voice lowered dangerously, a threatening tone to his words.

"It's not like I need you awake anyway."

.

Yylfordt stiffened at the response and accompanying hands probing his body. If he hadn't been fully awake before, that would have done the trick. He hissed in a breath as Grimmjow bit the fuck out of him. His shoulder throbbed and he felt the trickle of his own blood against his neck. Yylfordt wasn't a pussy. He could take it. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Can't you take care of it yourself," Yylfordt said, his tone making it a statement. He offered no assistance whatsoever. He wasn't afraid of Grimmjow. The man could have his respect-enough for Yylfordt to keep following him, anyway-but never his fear. Yylfordt wasn't afraid of anyone or anything. At least, this was what he told himself.

.

"I _am_ takin' care of it myself," Grimmjow said menacingly. He savored the sharp breath that escaped his Fracción's lips. Any reaction that he could lure from this man seemed to set him off. "Not like yer doin' any of the work." His grip tightened. "Fuck if I can't get some use outta you."

He pushed himself up, sitting back on his heels as he pulled the covers off completely, tossing them aside and focusing on the revealed body beneath him. His eyes traced along the lines of definition in Yylfordt's shoulders, past the dimples on his lower back, and over the curve of his ass in the small shorts that he wore. They were distinctly reminiscent of the ones that Szayel had dressed in the night before. Grimmjow's libido soared with the recollection.

He made little work of Yylfordt's clothing, tugging hard at the fabric and throwing the shorts to join the blankets on the floor. His fingers grabbed roughly at the other man's hips, strengthening when he voiced his command. "On yer knees, Granz."

.

That really set Yylfordt off. Grimmjow pawing at him and stripping his clothes off as if he had a right to do so didn't help either. Yylfordt's legs stung where the cloth had been so suddenly torn away. He sat up and then turned with a glare, his entire body stiff with his barely suppressed rage. He ignored those hands on his hips even as fingernails threatened to cut his skin. Grimmjow insulting him like that just made him want to be more uncooperative. He'd punch the fucker if it'd do any good too.

"Why don't you go bother Shawlong or somebody else about it, huh?" Yylfordt wasn't and never had been sure why it always had to be him. He knew Grimmjow got off on being rough with him, but beyond that it had always mystified him why _he_ had been chosen for this shit job and not any of the others. Grimmjow would've probably found equal resistance from any of them if that was what he craved. "Why's it always gotta be me?"

.

The arrogant bastard should have known better by now. If his incompetent brain had learned anything over the years, it should have been that Grimmjow was never one to back down, and the fact that his inferior still defied him only made him grin. The pathetic words that fell from the other man's mouth had him lowering his voice, speaking flatly. "It's you because I said so," he stated harshly.

He disregarded the other man's resistance, allowing his nails to begin sinking into the flesh of Yylfordt's hips. If he was not going to comply, then Grimmjow would force him; that much was easy enough. Gripping mercilessly on to the other man, he snarled. "Now," he started, sensing that the skin was starting to open beneath his touch. "Get on yer fuckin' knees."

.

The only reason Yylfordt complied this time was because he remembered how badly his ass had hurt the last time when he'd resisted until the bitter end. So with a plethora of curses directed at the asshole, he went down on all fours. Yylfordt's flaccid cock hanging between his legs was a visceral indication of his displeasure. He swore to himself that he wouldn't enjoy it. Not this time and not ever again would he allow his body to betray him like that. The burning pressure of Grimmjow's fingernails slicing his skin open definitely made it seem like a possibility.

.

Grimmjow's hold loosened as the man beneath him finally obeyed. He raised his hand, licking at the blood beneath his fingernails, and grinning. "I don't know why I keep you around," he started, biting against his thumb. "You always gotta do everything the hard way."

Despite his smirk, his tone was thick with irritation. He brought his hand down fiercely against Yylfordt's ass, allowing the clap to ring in his ears before speaking again, the words angry and under his breath. "Fuckin' useless."

Both of his hands clutched viciously to the other man's ass as he spread him open, a gruff sound escaping his throat. He was once again made aware of his intensifying arousal. Grimmjow lowered his head and spit on his Fracción's hole, one hand moving to himself and giving a rough tug, the breath catching in his throat. Fingers tightened on Yylfordt's flesh when Grimmjow thumbed over the head of his cock, his back straightening as he sat up. He positioned himself against the other man. Partly because he could not wait, and also to put the smug Arrancar in his place, he pushed forward aggressively, only stopping when he was fully enveloped.

.

Grimmjow's words were a slap in the face on top of his present degradation. Yylfordt clenched his teeth to hold back the insults waiting to fly out. He fought to relax his body, but Grimmjow wasn't any help. The slap and additional insult had him tensing again. Yylfordt had only just begun to relax once more when Grimmjow pushed into him. Yylfordt bit his tongue so hard it bled to keep from crying out as agonizing pain shot through his body. He couldn't help the shudder though. Long hair hung in his face from where it parted to either side of his neck. Yylfordt was grateful that it concealed his grimace and the malice in his gaze. The last thing he needed was for the fucker to see that and try some other bullshit on him because of it.

.

Grimmjow relaxed his shoulders and gave the man a moment to adjust to his intrusion, his own body relaxing as he savored the feel of muscles contracting around him. His hands still gripped at the other man's hips and he pulled him back, holding Yylfordt tightly against himself. The pressure went to his head. A moment later and he was backing off before driving himself roughly into that exquisite heat, his pelvis rocking hard and his thrusts becoming savage. Grimmjow's fingers tightened, surely leaving bruises on that creamy skin. His pace quickened. The strain across his back was becoming more apparent with each thrust, and any attempts to ignore it and the thoughts that it rekindled failed him. Bending over slightly, he slid his hands up and under Yylfordt's body, fingers curling against his chest as he continued his hurried motions, his breath coming faster to match.

.

Yylfordt fought it, but as usual, he became erect after the first few thrusts. The man always gave him a moment to collect himself, and this was usually part of his undoing. It allowed him to overcome the pain in his body from the violent intrusion to which he was subjected. He shuddered as Grimmjow held himself so very deep inside. Yylfordt's breath picked up even as he fought to control it. And when the man quickened his pace, his cock thrusting into and out of Yylfordt's body in the most brutal of fashions, he couldn't help the moan that escaped through clenched teeth even though he hated himself for it. When those hands slid up his body, he knew it would soon be all over for him.

.

The sound of Yylfordt's panting had him hastening. It wasn't that he cared whether his subordinate was getting off, but because he did so love the gratification of proving him wrong. And even though it happened every time, it never ceased to heighten his arousal.

The pitiful moan made Grimmjow lean forward and push deeper. He moved his hands to Yylfordt's back, running up his spine and pressing assertively against the back of his neck, forcing the man's upper body down against the mattress. He straightened somewhat to adjust to the new angle, never losing his speed, a growl passing through his gritted teeth with each motion in and out of Yylfordt's body. He came quickly, tensing as his muscles stiffened.

Despite the fact that he was already loosening with relief, he was unsatisfied. He pulled out and snarled. "Fuck," he said disappointedly, rolling his eyes as his irritation returned. Standing from the bed, he picked up the shorts from the floor and cleaned himself off. "Not surprisin' your brother's better."

.

All it took was the additional press of Grimmjow's hands on his back and he came, wilting into the new position and hating himself with each panting breath. A few seconds later he felt Grimmjow stiffen and release inside of him. Yylfordt gritted his teeth again, the pleasure he had found quickly fading. When Grimmjow pulled out, he was again reminded of why exactly he didn't enjoy his little surprise visits.

At the mention of his most hated enemy, the overwhelming shadow and reminder of all the failures in his life, Yylfordt sat up with a snarl.

"Then why don't you two leave me the fuck out of it," he said, his tone exploding with all the pent up anger he held toward both men. Yylfordt turned and punched Grimmjow in the face with all of his strength.

.

Grimmjow was far from surprised at the way the man reacted to his words. He even half-expected the crack of knuckles against his face. It would have been easy enough to leave out the information regarding Szayel, but then he would have missed out on the enjoyment of riling Yylfordt up.

He ran a hand over his cheek, his jaw flexing. The pain was hardly noticeable, really, especially compared to what he had endured with the Octava. He almost mentioned that even torture was something that his brother lead the way in, but refrained to answer the question instead. Grimmjow took a step forward. When he met the other man's eyes, it was with a fierce stare.

"You do what I tell you," he started, raising an eyebrow. He grit his teeth. "I gotta work a lot harder if I want better."

He reached out to grip Yylfordt's chin in his thumb and forefinger, his anger showing itself in his solid grip. His lips curled and he flashed his teeth maliciously. "And I can have you whenever I want."

.

When Grimmjow didn't punch him back, Yyfordt knew the man had just been trying to get a reaction out of him. Again. And he had given in, again. In an instant, his loathing for the Sexta almost eclipsed the respect that bound them. What Grimmjow said next sent him over the edge. He saw red for an instant and then he found himself spitting in Grimmjow's face.

"Fuck you." He'd be damned if he ever let the motherfucker's dick near him ever again.

Yylfordt wrenched his head out of that grip and stood, going for the door. He was so pissed off that sleep would now be impossible. And he didn't want to be around Grimmjow for another instant.

.

Grimmjow wiped the spit from his face and shook his hand out. He had known that he was going to hit a nerve by bringing up Szayel, though he hadn't expected quite as much of an outrage. As Yylfordt turned to leave, Grimmjow grabbed him by the arm and gave one hard pull, hauling the man back beside him. He grabbed a fistful of long hair and tugged, bringing the Fracción down a few inches. His disdain only added to his arousal at how effortless it was to dominate this man. Both hands worked to compel Yylfordt back against the wall, Grimmjow using his own body to hold him there. Another strong force pushed him to his knees.

Grimmjow glared down at him for a moment, releasing blond hair to backhand Yylfordt sharply across the cheek. He arched his back tauntingly, his lower body inching closer to the man beneath him. When he spoke, his voice was steady despite the ire that he felt.

"Don't forget your place, Granz."

.

Yylfordt cursed loudly and profusely as he was hauled back to Grimmjow's side and then forced down to his knees. The humiliation and ensuing rage were so intense that he thought he might explode. And then Grimmjow was waving his cock in his face. Yylfordt was tempted to bite it off, especially when Grimmjow mentioned his _place_. But he had some sense of self-preservation. Not enough to open his mouth though. Instead, he scowled and glared at the Espada.

"Bet Nnoitra doesn't have to do this just to get laid. Ever wonder why no one in their right mind will fuck you, Grimmjow?" His smirk was as malicious as the anger that seethed right under the surface of his words.

.

The mention of Nnoitra's name caught him off guard. He had no idea where Yylfordt was getting his information from, or even if he was simply throwing shit to the wall, but Grimmjow tensed.

He looked down himself, past the rise and fall of his chest, to the man on the floor. The smile on his face had Grimmjow teeming. Bending over, he grabbed Yylfordt's hair and pulled, relishing in the noise that met his ears as some of it ripped from the man's scalp, the sound and the feel of it shooting to his groin. As he met his lesser's gaze, his own glare was overridden by a fiendish grin.

"Because I fuck them first."

He gave another tug for good measure. And when he spoke again, the hint of satisfaction had faded, the tone in his voice beyond fury. "Open your mouth. Now."

.

Yylfordt had only mentioned Nnoitra because the man was _one-up_ in rank and pretty similar to Grimmjow, but the reaction he got told him there really was something there. His eyes narrowed and then began to water as Grimmjow pulled his hair out. He winced and shut them for a second, but didn't let go of that thought. When Grimmjow told him to open his mouth he complied, but it was only to laugh.

.

The man's laughter, he realized in that moment, was one of the most obnoxious sounds he had ever heard. He contemplated crushing Yylfordt's skull in order to make it stop, but took advantage instead. He pushed himself between open lips and deeper all at once, until he could feel Yylfordt's nose against his stomach. He tightened his fingers in the other man's hair as he started to rock his hips. Resting his arms on the wall, he kept his eyes on the other man from above. Perhaps it was the surprise of it all, but so far there was almost nothing erotic about the lazy work that Yylfordt was doing. Luckily, Grimmjow got off on the power. He responded to his subordinate with a deservedly harsh chuckle of his own.

.

Yylfordt almost choked on the dick that was suddenly just there. He jerked his head back, trying to pull out of reach, but hit the wall instead. Then the hand fisted in his hair drew him back and he was forced to take it down again. The harsh sound of Grimmjow's laughter grated on his nerves enough that he almost bit down. Instinct saved Yylfordt at the last instant and he fought to relax his throat instead. Despite his efforts, he still dry heaved for a few seconds before managing it. If his hatred had been made physically manifest, Grimmjow would have been dead where he stood.

Yylfordt was no one's whore. He had to remind himself of that as he finally began to curl his tongue around Grimmjow's erection in an effort to get him off and out of his face. He glared at the man as he did so.

.

The choking around him certainly didn't help. If it hadn't been for his memory of the prior evening, he would have waited all night trying to get off. As it was, Yylfordt's half-assed attempts at getting rid of him did nothing to add to his enjoyment. It was lucky for the Fracción that Grimmjow was so triggered by dominance. He moved his hips slowly, forcing himself to believe that Yylfordt was better at this, savoring when he could the slide of a tongue against him, the heat of that mouth around him. He pressed himself tighter to the wall, the cold surface reminding him of the table that he had been tied to. When it was Szayel beneath him, he could hardly contain his desire. The recollection accompanied by the similar sensations had him moving more quickly, driving himself deeper into Yylfordt's throat, his own seeming to close as his breath hitched. Both of his hands slid along the wall to knot in Yylfordt's hair. Grimmjow pulled against the long blond locks, compelling Yylfordt's head forward to meet each of his thrusts. When he came, his legs shook and a shiver ran up the length of his spine.

Grimmjow pulled back and out of the other man's mouth. The thought of Szayel had been his undoing. And with it once again on his mind, he found himself needing more. Tugging on the hair between his fingers, he hauled Yylfordt to his feet and turned him around, slamming him firmly against the wall. He slid himself along the other man's back, somewhat surprised with himself for getting ready again so soon. His middle finger pressed along the crack of Yylfordt's ass before he was gripping at his subordinate's skin, moving in to lick across the broad shoulders and biting down at the curve of his neck.

.

Yylfordt was almost grateful for the hands in his hair. Otherwise, he wasn't sure he could muster the effort to actually bring his head forward. But dictating the pace himself would have been much nicer. Then he might have been able to pull back and avoid the come that shot down his throat. Yylfordt coughed as he attempted to swallow it all.

Before he could even do that, he was being hauled to his feet and turned around. The breath whooshed out of him before he had a chance to protest. By the time Yylfordt gained it back, Grimmjow was already gripping and biting him. He shuddered at the contact, becoming aroused against his will again. Through it all, Yylfordt wondered who the man was really thinking about and seethed both at this and the idea he had had the thought in the first place.

"Get the fuck off me," he finally said, his usual venom intact despite the rawness of his voice.

.

Grimmjow ignored the words and pressed his lower body closer. His hands slipped over muscular arms, gripping around Yylfordt's wrists and pinning them against the wall above his head. He took advantage of the fact that the man could not fight him and he rolled his hips up, the friction aiding in his rise to full arousal once more.

The expanse of bare flesh before him was just begging for his attention. Grimmjow leaned in, his mouth working over the other man's shoulders, teeth biting down and leaving bruises in his wake as he moved lower; his tongue ran out to slide over smooth skin, following the distinct contour of Yylfordt's spine. When he straightened up, he licked along the shell of an ear, his rough whisper breaking the silence when he finally spoke. "I'm not done with you yet."

Grimmjow slid a knee between Yylfordt's legs, kicking his feet to spread him open further. Bending slightly, one hand releasing a wrist to situate himself against heated skin. He pushed up, just enough to slide the head of his cock into the other man, before moving slowly, appreciating each inch of pressure as it wrapped around him. When he had settled, he backed out just as steadily as his entrance, his breath fighting him to remain calm. He could not help but thrust in forcefully. He pressed Yylfordt tighter to the wall and began to move, every push forward coming quicker than the last.

.

Yylfordt couldn't help the way his body reacted. He had never been able to come to terms with that, but it didn't lessen the truth of the matter. By the time Grimmjow deigned to reply, he was panting once more. His legs, when they were spread, offered even less resistance than usual. He hated himself for it, but he hated Grimmjow even more for making him feel so damn helpless. And then Grimmjow was inside of him once more. Yylfordt braced his free hand against the wall as he fought not to meet him thrust for thrust. He grit his teeth to keep all the little noises that threatened inside, but could not stop them all.

.

Grimmjow's thrusts continued, his momentum gaining. He grinned as the other man's breath fell heavier against his ears and as Yylfordt tensed around him; he knew that it was bound to happen eventually, his subordinate's arousal, only irritated that, just as every other time, it took the blond so long to accept it.

The straining sounds that fought to break free from Yylfordt's throat turned him on even more. He moved with more aggression, letting go of the wrists in his grasp to run his hands over the other man's back. Grimmjow could feel the heat resonating off of him but the touch of warm skin beneath his fingers was something else entirely. Groaning low in his throat, he backed off enough to slip his hands around to Yylfordt's chest. There, they explored the length of his torso, fingertips pressing roughly, thumbs brushing over nipples. While he refrained from using his nails, his ministrations remained domineering; there was nothing gentle in his actions.

His hands moved downwards and he clutched at Yylfordt's hips, rocking him back against each of his thrusts. He listened to the other man fighting with himself. Craning his head to pant in Yylfordt's ear, Grimmjow gave an especially powerful thrust.

"C'mon, Granz," he started, overzealous desire making his voice almost a growl. "Make some noise for me."

.

Yylfordt braced his other hand against the wall as soon as was permissible. His head dropped alternatively forward and back depending on what Grimmjow was doing to him. Yylfordt's erection strained toward the wall, occasionally hitting it as Grimmjow rocked his body. When those possessive hands started to roam his body, he couldn't help the way he shuddered, the way his breath came in even faster. He hated to give in to Grimmjow's command, his desire, but couldn't fight it. A louder moan tore from his throat at the other man's overzealous ministrations. He gritted his teeth even harder after this, but it didn't make any difference. Moans continued to escape from deep within his throat with his every breath, with the Sexta's every thrust, until eventually Grimmjow hit him hard enough that it seemed he tore Yylfordt's release from his very body by force. Yylfordt was a shuddering and groaning mess as he came.

.

Grimmjow's smile returned at the compliance and the responses to his touch. He was pleased to know that the sounds falling from Yylfordt's lips and the way the blond adjusted around him were no act, as they had been earlier. He moved deeper. His hips compelled forward more quickly. He felt the muscles beneath his touch tensing, and then Yylfordt was breathing heavily, his body loose in Grimmjow's arms. Of course, he couldn't hold on. The selfish bastard should have at least waited until his Espada was finished.

Moving more harshly, Grimmjow grunted with each forceful thrust. His body tightened and just before he came, he pulled out to watch his release splatter across Yylfordt's lower back. He wrapped a hand around himself, pumping until he could no longer take the friction.

Grimmjow wiped his hand down Yylfordt's back and stepped away. "Gettin' there," he stated simply, no real faith in his tone. He waited until he had reached the door before speaking again, a glare flashing across his face. "But I've had better."

It was all that he said before seeing himself out and slamming the door closed behind him.

.

Yylfordt stiffened as Grimmjow's come splattered across his back. A vein at his temple throbbed painfully at this, the hand, and subsequent words. His hands fisted at his sides when the bastard left. Yylfordt's posture was as tense as the line his mouth had been drawn into. He vowed then, with Grimmjow's quickly cooling come all over his back and running down his thighs, that things would change. For better or for worse, he didn't know. But this same old, same old bullshit was _over_. To that end, he would pay the person he loathed most in the world a visit: his asshole of a brother, Szayel Aporro.

.

Yylfordt hated Grimmjow more with each step he took toward Szayel's territory. When he finally reached the divide, he was in a rage. This was tempered by the cold fear sliding like slime down his spine. The only reason Yylfordt didn't hesitate was the fact he knew without a doubt that his brother was watching. He also knew that it would be a long time before he was allowed to leave and didn't want to give the asshole the satisfaction. Nevertheless, a shudder ripped through him as he took that first step toward his ruin.

Yylfordt might have appeared confident, but his blood had turned to ice. Memories rose unbidden of his brother's teeth tearing into his flesh. Yylfordt remembered all too vividly what it had been like to be devoured alive. He also remembered being spit out and tossed aside like garbage when Szayel was done with him. Yylfordt's only consolation in the situation had been the fact that Szayel was demoted from Cero Espada to Privaron Espada. He clung to that silver lining through his torturous reemergence into Arrancar society. It wasn't a short or easy process. And now here he was heading right back into the heart of that darkness.

Yylfordt cursed Grimmjow with every fiber of his being as he broke into sonido to dodge the first of Szayel's insidious traps. By the time he reached the actual lab, he was covered in burns and missing a finger. The bastard knew he was coming and had still let him suffer through all that bullshit. Yylfordt wanted to turn around and leave right then. He might have, except for the fact that he would have to run the gauntlet again. Then there was the fact Grimmjow would never let him live the missing finger down. Yylfordt scowled and stepped inside the large, open space.

.

Szayel was waiting for him-_had been_ waiting for him. He watched with a contemptuous if faintly amused eye as his inferior brother navigated through the maze of traps Truly, his reaction time left a lot to be desired. This obvious inferiority was one of the myriad reasons he had for casting the man out of perfection to begin with. They might have shared a set of genetics, but Szayel had inherited every admirable trait. Yylfordt held nothing of value as far as he was concerned.

The fool couldn't even do something as simple as satisfy a man in bed. He had to come begging to Szayel for that, too.

Pathetic.

Szayel turned in his chair to face the interloper. He sneered.

"My, my, and here I thought your performance record could get no worse. You truly have outdone yourself this time, Fraccion."

.

Yylfordt regretted his decision already. But now that he was here, he would follow through if it was the last thing he did-and it very well might be. His pride demanded no less. So it was that he stood tall and faced the man who had once devoured him alive.

"Weren't you supposed to be a genius, brother? If so, I never should have made it here at all." One minute with Szayel and he was already back to fuming. Yylfordt tried his best to keep it from showing. That would only make the asshole happy. Yylfordt was doing enough of that just by being there. He stalked closer with all the grace of a predator sizing up his prey. The smirk never left his face, despite the fact that half of it was a smoking ruin from whatever he'd been squirted with. It hurt like hell, but he wasn't about to show that either.

.

Szayel watched him come closer with satisfaction. Yylfordt truly looked terrible. His outside appearance almost matched his inferior abilities now.

"You're only here because I allow it," Szayel said, knowing Yylfordt would catch the even more ominous implications.

"I'm afraid, though, that I do not have much time to waste on you today." He activated the reiatsu suppressor unique to Yylfordt by pressing his fingers to one of the controllers embedded in his uniform.

.

Yylfordt opened his mouth to reply, but it was cut short as all his energy left him all at once. He doubled over and clutched his stomach as a ragged breath tore from his throat.

"Asshole," he said, when he finally managed to make a sound.

.

Szayel smirked.

"Entertaining, as always." Three of his Fraccion came and grabbed Yylfordt. They would clean and heal him.

Then, and only then, would Szayel deign to teach him a thing or two about sex. His smirk widened at the thought. Yylfordt might not have been his equal in most things, but they did share genetic makeup...


	13. Part II: Chapter 6

.

**The Coronation of Self: Part II**

**Chapter Six**

**By: Ryoko & SZP**

Nnoitra was gone. Nnoitra was gone and Tesla was all alone. Even though he could feel the comforting weight of his Espada's unruffled reiatsu where he was across Las Noches, Tesla still worried. Lately, there had been a few troubling incidents. The first happened when Nnoitra got into a fight with the Sexta and was actually wounded by the man. Tesla knew Nnoitra would win, but the fact that Grimmjow had actually managed to cut him came as a shock. Even more troublesome, he had come back covered in lacerations after supposedly being healed. Tesla could tell the Octava had cleared up the wounds caused by Grimmjow, but as for the rest...

Tesla had asked about it, of course, but received nothing but a backhand to the face for his efforts. Since then, he tried to pretend that nothing had happened. It wasn't because he was afraid for his own health, but rather that he didn't like to upset Nnoitra. As always, he would rather his Espada focus on his goals than waste his time meting out punishments.

However, it didn't stop him from worrying. And now Nnoitra was gone again, and he had left Tesla behind again.

Tesla sat on the floor by the bed and stared at the rumpled sheets, fighting the urge to smell them. His hands shook with the effort, but eventually he relaxed and settled back on his heels.

Tesla considered cleaning the room, but dismissed the idea when he remembered how it had turned out last time he attempted it. Nnoitra didn't like "having his shit fucked up," as he put it. His Espada had made Tesla very sorry indeed that he had to waste his time putting it all back right.

.

Grimmjow stalked through the halls of Las Noches. His temper had been raging since the night before, after his experience with Yylfordt had not gone as planned. And since he had absolutely no intention of making his situation known to anyone else, it seemed that he was now forced to take a more extreme approach if he was going to solve his problem. Until his Fracción complied and gave him the satisfaction that he craved, he would find someone else. First, however, he was going to pay the Quinta an unexpected visit.

Grimmjow drew in his reiatsu as he approached the Fifth Espada's residence. He was grateful for the fact that the man had but _one_ subordinate, though it surprised him that Hueco Mundo had even produced an Arrancar that could tolerate being alone with Nnoitra for so long. The lack of support, however, certainly made breaking into his space that much easier. Grimmjow felt his anger heighten as he moved through the hallway; he could not feel the other man's reiatsu, but paid no heed, assuming that the Quinta had a similar mind and had been holding it in as well. Taking full advantage of the empty space, he moved undetected through the corridors, a grin spreading over his lips as he approached the larger doors at the end of the hallway. He forced them open.

His satisfaction drained quickly when he realized that Nnoitra was not there, and when his eyes fell on the blond, his annoyance escalated. He took a step into the room, glaring down at the man seated on the floor beside the bed. His fists clenched and he snarled.

"Where is he?"

.

Tesla started as the doors slammed open. He opened his mouth to offer his customary greeting, but quickly shut it when he realized it wasn't Nnoitra. He stood and brushed the creases out of his jacket.

"Nnoitra-sama is not here," Tesla said, his tone respectful but curt. He did not like it that this man, the one who had actually managed to get past Nnoitra's Hierro, was now here in Nnoitra's bedroom. But it didn't matter how he felt. Nnoitra would punish him later for it, because Tesla should have known Grimmjow was coming. He should have known and prevented his access to Nnoitra's bedroom. Grimmjow should not be standing there right now. Tesla knew that. He frowned.

"Please come back another time, Sexta Espada Grimmjow Jeagerjacques." Tesla knew by now not to afford anyone but Nnoitra-and Aizen, Tousen, and Gin when he absolutely had to-the additional title, so he tried to placate the man's ego in a different way. If he succeeded, perhaps Grimmjow would go away and leave Nnoitra's things alone.

.

Grimmjow scanned the room. If Nnoitra wasn't there, then he was free to make whatever mess he wanted; at least then he would have begun to prove his point.

He could feel the loathing resonating off of the Fracción's body and he turned. While the hostility was subtle, it was clear to him that Tesla's words and posture were accompanied by a nervous air. Grimmjow wondered for a moment about why the man was even in Nnoitra's bedroom, quickly recalling the way that Tesla referred to the Quinta and assuming that he must not be the only Espada to find a better use for his subordinate. The thought had him grinning.

Grimmjow narrowed the distance between them. He reached out, fisting a clump of blond hair and pulling back aggressively to expose the man's neck. His eyes sized up the lithe body before him, settling on the Fracción's throat, before he spoke.

"You'll do."

.

Tesla saw the man coming, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He swallowed, the motion painful with his neck distended in such a manner, and offered Grimmjow nothing but a cool gaze. Tesla barely managed to withhold his contempt. He had never thought much of the Sexta, who could never be as great as Nnoitra.

"I am Nnoitra-sama's Fraccion alone, Sexta Espada," he said, his tone calm despite the circumstances. Whatever happened would be out of his hands, but he had to offer his formal protest. Nnoitra didn't like it when someone else touched his things. Grimmjow would pay for it, but so would Tesla. It was his fault for being so weak as to allow this to happen, after all. He should have escaped in the brief moment before Grimmjow grabbed him. Escaped and alerted Nnoitra to the situation. He would still have been punished for allowing Grimmjow into the room, but it would have avoided the additional punishment that was coming.

Tesla hated it when he made mistakes because they made Nnoitra unhappy, and that was something he wished to avoid with his whole heart because that was how much he cared.

.

When Tesla spoke, Grimmjow scowled. If he had to hear the Quinta's name once more, he would obliterate the Fracción where he stood. After his night with such a rebellious subordinate of his own, seeing Nnoitra held in such high regard only fueled his seething temper. For a moment, his hold tensed and he looked down at the blond with disdain.

"Shut up," he said, an eyebrow raising. "I don't give a shit."

He slipped a few fingers under the collar of Tesla's jacket and pulled, his hand moving quickly down the front while the fabric opened with his hostile motion. He did not bother to regard the newly exposed skin. Instead, his fingers were tugging again at short blond locks, angling Tesla's head back, and he lowered himself to lick a line up the man's lengthened throat; Grimmjow's other hand moved unkindly over the man's bare chest. He imagined Nnoitra's response to recognizing the possessive trace that Grimmjow's tongue was leaving on his property, and his mouth moved higher, teeth latching onto an earlobe, his own actions making him edgy with satisfaction.

.

Grimmjow's words were no surprise, but the fact that the man ripped his clothes open was. Tesla stiffened, his lips pulling into a line across his face as Grimmjow licked him. He was used to the treatment, but the fact it was the _Sexta_ doing it and not Nnoitra took all the enjoyment away. Which was a good thing. If his body reacted to the Sexta's touch he and Nnoitra both would consider it a betrayal.

Tesla wondered if his agitated reiatsu would draw Nnoitra's attention, but then dismissed the thought. His master had far better things to do than to attend to his needs. He had told Tesla that before in as many words. No, it was Tesla's responsibility to make the best of this situation. Which was why his hand dropped near Verruga's hilt as he prepared to make his move.

Nnoitra would prefer him to resist to the fullest, anyway.

.

Grimmjow could sense that the Fracción was not going to give in as easily as he expected. And while he expected at least somewhat of a response to his advances, he paid it little attention. The hunt was what excited him the most.

He raised his head, eyes flashing open fiercely, and he did not even glance down as he grabbed the man by the wrist. A snarl found his lips. Another disobedient subordinate. The thought pissed him off and he let go of the hair between his fingers.

"I wouldn't," he said, a predatory tone in his voice. He yanked on the arm in his grip, pulling the other man closer to himself, as his free hand slid tauntingly up the exposed skin of Tesla's chest before wrapping loosely around his throat. He gave a threatening squeeze and lowered his head to speak against an ear. "Unless you want me to kill you now."

.

Tesla's eye widened a little as Grimmjow let go of his hair. He thought there might still be some hope left, but this was quickly dashed. Grimmjow caught his hand, and his breath whooshed out as he was drawn in close to the man. The hand wrapped around his throat was more of a confirmation of his worst fears than the words Grimmjow uttered. Still, Tesla stood stiffly proud.

"Nnoitra-sama does not like it when others touch his things. It is my job to defend them," he said, his tone cool during the entire explanation. But even though he had said that, Tesla made no move to resist. He was not weak, but Grimmjow was an Espada and could crush him with little effort.

.

Grimmjow let out a dark chuckle at the words. He couldn't tell whether or not the man was being serious; of course he was aware of what Nnoitra disliked, it was what brought him here in the first place. The fact that he could still maintain his dignified pout made Grimmjow smile.

"I told you," he started, nipping at Tesla's jaw. "I don't give a shit."

The hand around the blond's throat tightened and he used the threat of suffocation to his advantage. Dragging Tesla with him, he moved to the side of the bed, pushing the Fracción over and settling firmly on top of him. He rocked his hips, making his intentions known, and the feral desire returned to him, pulsing rapidly through his veins. The hand on Tesla's neck slid up, angling the man's head so that when Grimmjow pressed roughly between his lips, his tongue ran along the roof of the other man's mouth. He let a deep growl out into the embrace.

.

Tesla closed his eye as Grimmjow bit him once more. He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, his air supply was suddenly threatened. Tesla stumbled backwards, his remaining breath whooshing out as Grimmjow laid on top of him. And then his mouth was being violated. Tesla bit down on the man's tongue as much as he dared, while maintaining his defiant gaze. He could do this much, at least.

.

"Fuck," Grimmjow groaned and pulled back at the bite against his tongue. "You little shit."

He kept his hold on the other man's throat while he shook his head as if to rid himself of the pain. When he looked down again at Tesla, his temper was raging.

His fingers tightened and he forced all of his weight and reiatsu down onto the body beneath him. Lowering his head, released some of his fervent energy by biting down hard against Tesla's shoulder, teeth forcefully breaking through skin; he hummed at the blood against his tongue. Grimmjow pushed himself up, glaring down at the blond, his fury amplifying with that complacent stare. He spit in Tesla's face, his teeth clenching.

"Don't fuck with me," he started, venturing to calm his breathing. His hand was already snaking between them to pull at Tesla's hakama. "Try anything and I'll kill you."

.

Tesla considered it a victory when Grimmjow pulled back. It was a small one, but tangible nonetheless. And then his every nerve was being abraded by Grimmjow's reiatsu in addition to the weight already bearing down on him. Tesla sank into the mattress-which did not creak as it was Nnoitra's mattress and thus able to handle a lot more than this-and fought to stay conscious. To his credit, he didn't even flinch when Grimmjow broke his skin or spit in his face. This was nothing when he had endured so much more, and willingly too. The evidence was in his missing eye, which Nnoitra had carved out so long ago. He had been taught through that encounter and many more that crying out and flinching were signs of weakness and thus had learned to bear an extreme amount of pain for his Espada's sake. Nnoitra was a good teacher.

Even as Tesla's head grew light and he saw dark spots at the edge of his vision as the Sexta divested him of his pants, he maintained his glare.

.

Grimmjow was pleased to see that, despite his scowl, Tesla had given in to his advances. He reigned in some of his reiatsu, leaving enough of it pulsing to keep the man in submission; if he hadn't, Tesla would have blacked out before he even got to have any fun. And Grimmjow wanted him to feel everything.

On any other occasion, he would have immediately forced himself into the other man. But Tesla was new to him. And Tesla was Nnoitra's. And so Grimmjow took his time, his own lust intensifying as he explored new territory, his lips and teeth leaving bruises as proof of his being there. Calloused hands slipped lower, and between Tesla's legs, and finally into the smaller man. He grinned at the pressure around him and curled his fingers, watching Tesla's face for a reaction.

.

Tesla wheezed in a breath as some of the weight left him, but otherwise showed no reaction. He was immensely thankful for his training as Grimmjow began to try to pleasure him. Nnoitra had taught his body well that it was only to respond to his touch, to his regard, to his lash, his words, his everything. Tesla learned his lessons. He was part of Nnoitra's property and he had long ago begun to view himself that way. He might have become erect otherwise, with the strangely gentle-for the Sexta, anyway-touches. Bruises bloomed on pale skin as Grimmjow worked his way down his body. And then he was being entered. It was only the force of his will, his loyalty to Nnoitra, that kept him from being the least stirred then.

.

Grimmjow was quickly growing tired of his attempts at winning Tesla over. And he was all too hastily remembering why it was that he no longer wasted the time on his partners. As much as he delighted in knocking his prey down a few pegs, if this man was not going to be turned on by his ministrations, then he wasn't going to continue with them. The most important goal was simply _having_ him.

He withdrew and dropped his hakama, working his hands over himself. He grabbed Tesla's thighs and pulled them open, hardly taking the time to position himself before pushing forward with full force. His movements were fast and rough, and he bent over the other man's body to look him in the eye, hands moving over Tesla's chest to pinch a nipple between his fingers. Even if he couldn't get the obsessive Fracción off, he could leave his mark on Nnoitra's property. And that felt even better.

.

In his mind, Grimmjow's disinterest in pleasing him was another victory. It meant that it would become much easier for his body to remain loyal. He wanted this most of all. Tesla bore the excruciating pain of the entry and subsequent thrusts with a look of apathy. He was, again, grateful for his training. Grimmjow might have been able to overpower him, but he would never gain Tesla any satisfaction. That knowledge made what was happening to him bearable. If it wasn't Nnoitra's strong touch, Tesla didn't have any desire for it. He had long ago redirected any interest he held in others this way back to his master, as he had been taught.

The proof of this was in his flaccid cock, which swayed with Grimmjow's harsh thrusts, but did not become erect.

.

Grimmjow was picking up speed. He panted with every thrust, working solely for himself and for the gratification that would come in knowing that he had disturbed something so valuable to the Quinta. Hell, maybe Nnoitra would no longer want Tesla after the destruction he had caused. The idea had him growling low in his throat, compelling himself deeper into the other man, fingers returning to Tesla's throat as his entire body thrummed with the need for release. His muscles tightened and he came hard, his high immediately interrupted by the opening doors on the other side of the room. He glanced up, still buried deeply in Tesla, still breathing heavily, sweat clinging to his skin. He grinned.

.

Nnoitra stared at the man on his bed, a feeling of ardent contempt washing over him. He did not acknowledge Tesla, simply walked into the room, his eye never leaving Grimmjow. He had known by the fuming reiatsu that this man would be here. Of course, he had assumed that it was for a fight after what had happened at their last encounter. He had not expected to find the Sexta fucking his Fracción.

"Eh? What's this?" He moved to the side of the bed, standing over Tesla but ignoring him. "It looks like yer tryin' to piss me off."

.

Grimmjow kept his gaze on the Quinta as he slowly pulled out of Tesla. He let out a satisfied grunt as he tightened his grip on the blond's throat, making sure that Nnoitra was aware of what he could do if Nnoitra chose to make a move.

His raised his eyes defiantly to the tall Espada, his lips spreading with a grin. "Just gettin' some use outta your toy," he started, devilishly. "I gotta say, he's not very good."

.

Tesla's eye widened as he heard the door slam open and he instantly paled. He hardly noticed the fact that Grimmjow had come inside him. Instead he swallowed hard as Nnoitra approached the bed. Tesla waited to speak until the two Espada were done, Nnoitra's words settling like stones in his stomach.

"Please forgive me, Nnoitra-sama," he said, just barely managing to croak the words out. Instantly, he stiffened as he braced himself for whatever was to happen to him. Whatever the case, he knew he deserved it for letting Grimmjow have his way.

.

Nnoitra watched as the Sexta's fingers gripped menacingly. His customary grin returned and he let out a laugh. "Tryin' to threaten me, Grimmjow?"

His own arm lowered towards the bed and he slapped his hand harshly across his Fracción's face, the loud clap causing his smile to widen. "Kill 'im if ya want," he began, one long finger drawing circles on the blond's eyepatch. "Death would be goin' easy on 'im."

.

Grimmjow's eyebrows furrowed at the Quinta's actions. Despite the fact that his business with Tesla was finished, he maintained his grasp, fingers curling around the man's throat as his anger intensified. He hated to rid himself of such successful bait. Nnoitra was playing up his indifference, but Grimmjow could sense the loathing beneath his flimsy curtain of apathy. He rose and forced his reiatsu down onto the blond, using his strength to bring Tesla up from the bed; turning and applying the combination of his powers, he hurled the smaller man against the wall. The gratifying sound of breaking bones rang in his ears.

When he looked back, he focused again his true prey, his eyes flashing with a wild hostility. "I came here for you, Nnoitra." His fists clenched, his attention firm and unmoving.

.

"Honored," Nnoitra retorted, the ridicule heavy on his tongue. He did not break his stare with the other Espada, even as the Sexta threw his subordinate through the wall.

"Tesla." His words were few, but he expected it to be obvious that his anger extended to the blond as well. "Clean this shit up."

He didn't need to tell the man that his job included his own damaged body; he hadn't addressed them, but the marks that Grimmjow had left along Tesla's skin were simply more fuel for his fire. His eye drifted to the hilt of the Sexta's sword and the man's fingers now wrapped around it. Grimmjow flashed out of sight and Nnoitra grinned before he followed suit.

.

The slap came as no surprise to him, nor did the fingers, so full of promise, against his eye patch. He shuddered even as his cheek began to swell. And then the breath was crushed out of him, his lungs collapsing in on themselves as Grimmjow's reiatsu slammed down on him once more. He didn't have time to adjust to this as before he knew it he was being thrown through the nearest wall. Excruciating pain shot through his body as he felt several of his ribs snap upon impact but he didn't cry out even in that instant. Because that would mean he'd be an embarrassment to Nnoitra. And Tesla was anything but that. At least, he did his very best not to be.

Nnoitra's command sent a shiver down his spine.

"Yes, sir," he said, without pause. It was only after his master was gone that Tesla allowed the pain to show on his face.


	14. Part II: Chapter 7

.

**The Coronation of Self: Part II**

**Chapter Seven**

**By: Ryoko & SZP**

Something was distracting him. Szayel gazed from the beaker in his hand to his tented hakama and back and then sighed. The cognitive deficiency caused by loss of blood to his brain would have been enough motivation for him to cease his experiment even without the obvious hindrance an erection caused him. Szayel set his equipment down with instructions to his nearby Fraccion to clean it up. He needed to take care of this, and fast. As always, there was plenty of work to be done and little time in which to accomplish it.

After some deliberation, Szayel selected a few toys and retired to one of the chambers in his inner sanctum. He fully intended to make use of his video surveillance of the previous day's encounter as it was the cause of his present discomfort. Szayel crossed into the shielded room and sealed the door-which only he or his Fraccion could now open. He removed his clothes and folded them so that they would not crease or wrinkle and set the footage to loop from the point where Nnoitra fucked Grimmjow to just after he climaxed. The giant wall monitor dwarfed the single lounge chair in front of it. Szayel draped a towel over the seat of the chair so that it would not be rendered unusable.

He licked his lips as he got down on all fours in front of the chair and began to prepare himself-for whether it was work or play, Szayel never put anything less than his full effort into it. Szayel's breathing picked up as he pumped fingers inside himself in time with Nnoitra's thrusts into Grimmjow's body, all of which was displayed in lurid detail in front of him. Szayel continued with his ministrations until he felt ready enough to take the ten-inch vibrating pink dildo picked out for himself. He crouched over it and as Nnoitra climaxed on screen, began to sink down onto it. Szayel moaned as the dildo filled and stretched him, his breath now coming in harsh pants. When it was fully sheathed inside of him, he began to touch his cock, smearing his precome all around the head. He shivered at the feel of his own talented fingers and wished, not for the first time, that he could suck on it too-but that modification had too many negative side effects.

Szayel moved back to sit in his chair. He turned the vibration on high, his entire body going into a fit of pleasurable spasms as it came to life inside of him. His head hit the back of the chair and he let out a cry loud enough that it echoed off the stark white tile and hard grey walls. It was, perhaps, because of this that he did not hear the hiss of the door opening. It was only Lumina's loud squeak that cut through his pleasurable haze. By the time he turned his head far enough to see the door behind him, his Fraccion had already crashed into one of his control panels. Smoke erupted from it to a chorus of Lumina's apologies. Szayel eyed the piece of equipment and grimaced, his arousal forgotten for the briefest of moments as he lamented the loss of his perimeter alarm notification system.

"I don't want to hear your excuses! _Fix it_," he said, his voice loud enough to make Lumina cringe and cover its head. Lumina bowed and scraped its way out of the room and Szayel rolled his eyes. He didn't like being without advance notice of intruders, but reasoned he would be safe enough for the few minutes it took to finish up.

With this in mind, he directed his attention back to the screen, which was now showing a most excellent view of his own naked and sweating body as both Grimmjow and Nnoitra pounded into it. Szayel began to stroke his cock in earnest, his hand dithering with a nipple as the dildo rubbed him raw inside. He sucked in a breath watching the perfect rise and fall of his own chest on screen, the exquisite way his throat expanded with each of Nnoitra's thrusts, and let it out as a needy moan. His head dropped back once more as he gave himself fully over to his own pleasure.

.

Nnoitra's eye twitched as he watched the Fracción bounce nervously away from him, his teeth grinding every time it shouted for him to "Stay!" It should have known after the first time that he wasn't going to oblige to such a moronic request, especially not when asked by such a moronic Arrancar. As it moved away, he followed it, drawing in his reiatsu on the off-chance that it possessed the ability to sense something so obvious. He doubted it, listening to the one word repeated over and over again at him. He paid little attention to anything else in the lab, having learned by now that nothing was good enough to hold his interest. Instead, he focused on drowning out the obnoxious sounds coming from the round little shit.

His awareness shifted severely as he moved deeper into the lab. He could not feel Szayel's reiatsu at all and he was certain that it meant the Octava was up to something. Nnoitra was slightly relieved knowing that he had just left Grimmjow and that there was little chance the Sexta could have made it here before him. But at the thought of someone else, he clenched his fists.

By the time they had approached the door, he was prepared for a brawl with whoever Szayel had tied to his table this time. And as soon as Verona opened the door, Nnoitra grabbed it by the hair and kicked it far behind him. He moved to the doorway, surprised at the sight.

Szayel's energy was pulsing fiercely in this room. And Nnoitra was proud of himself for maintaining his own reduced reiatsu; it would have been a shame to barge in and miss out on this. From where he stood, he could only see the back of the chair and the large screen in front of it. But he didn't need to see Szayel to know what he was doing. The sounds echoing off of the walls and the man's thrumming reiatsu were enough. He watched the video for a moment, refraining from grunting approvingly at the image of the Eighth Espada sliding roughly over the table as his own hips thrust eagerly to match with Grimmjow's. He appreciated the angle, his eye steadily moving over the tightening muscles, remembering the moment distinctly. He tore his gaze from the recording to move quietly along the side of the wall until he could see Szayel.

He licked his lips. If he hadn't already been turned on, he certainly would be getting there quickly now. He watched the Octava at his most vulnerable, the way he stroked himself, the way he twitched at the vibrations through his body, the way his mouth hung open seductively, and Nnoitra let out a sharp breath, making his presence known.

He raised an eyebrow and chuckled quietly. "I guess yer pretty fucked up, huh?"

.

Szayel heard the door opening this time, but as it was impossible for anyone but his Fraccion or himself to work, he didn't worry about it. The addition of his Fraccion's screech relieved him instead of worrying him. He would later regret his nonchalance at this and take extra measures for his security. For now, Szayel continued to pleasure himself, his mouth dropping open as he neared his climax. And then, right as he heard the additional noises in the room, he was coming. Szayel shuddered, his hips lifting of their own accord as his release sprayed all over his working hand and chest. Szayel slumped in his seat, his gaze going to where Nnoitra stood so close by. He really was surprised to see the man, but was unable to fully express it at the moment. Or, rather, didn't _care_ at the moment.

Szayel pumped the remaining semen out of his cock and into his palm before letting it drop. He ran this hand up his chest in a slow and seductive manner as he gathered the rest, arching into the touch as he did so. Szayel then brought his hand to his mouth and stuck out his tongue. He let most of it drop into his mouth. Szayel swallowed and licked his lips, his gaze locked with Nnoitra's own the entire time. He stuck each of his fingers in his mouth in turn and sucked them clean, letting out little moans of pleasure from time to time. When he was finished, he rubbed a hand down his body and finally turned off the vibration on his dildo, which had been making his abdomen twitch the entire time for all of its enormity.

"Did you need something, Nnoitra?"

.

Nnoitra unconsciously held his breath as Szayel brought himself over the edge, only realizing when he was inhaling deeply to make up for it. The simple motions accompanied by the man's leering only amplified his craving. He held the stare, even though it meant ignoring Szayel's hand moving along his chest, or his fingers slipping into his mouth. He knew that the Octava was taunting him. And he restrained himself enough to appear as if the efforts were less appealing to him than they truly were.

Szayel was playing with fire. Nnoitra had been so worked up from his fight with Grimmjow that he was already preparing his punishments for Tesla as he headed to the lab. But finding Szayel in this position, his desires on display as well as his subsequent handling of them, only made Nnoitra more aware of his appetite.

He took a few steps forward, standing over the Octava. "I actually did," he started, finally allowing himself to regard the rest of the man's body. When his gaze met Szayel's once more, he allowed his smile to widen. "But yer idea looks better."

.

It pleased Szayel to no end that Nnoitra had so much willpower and endurance. So much more fun to toy with a plaything that could withstand him at his finest, after all. The results were that much more gratifying this way. Although he had just climaxed, the enhancements he had made to his body enabled him to become aroused very quickly. His interest stirred, not yet fully awake but on its way, as Nnoitra stepped closer. Szayel let his legs hang open enough that Quinta fit neatly between them. The handle of his dildo protruded a good two inches and he let it all show.

"Of course my idea is better. Mmm...but I'm sure you'll tell me all about your little request later." Szayel idly wondered if Nnoitra was there because of Szayel's humiliation and subsequent rape of the Sexta's Fraccion, his lowly brother. But the variables were too numerous for a proper conclusion. The Quinta was unpredictable in some areas. Szayel rather liked it that way.

He pulled on the man's uniform, dragging him down until his face was close enough. Then Szayel kissed him, full and deep, his tongue massaging over the mark of Nnoitra's rank.

.

Nnoitra stood between Szayel's legs. He was fully aware of the other man's intentions and he could have very easily gone along with them and satisfied his own needs as well. But he did so enjoy the tension between them. It drove each of his actions, his desire to keep their relationship on edge and impulsive overriding his desire for a quick and lazy fuck.

He made a point of ignoring everything but the other man's face, and when Szayel spoke, he grinned at the words. Before he could respond, however, he was bent over, Szayel's tongue against his own; he didn't fight the low groan that passed into their embrace.

Nnoitra pushed back and he climbed onto the chair to straddle the other man, his hands already sliding up the Octava's chest. His fingers curled around the other man's throat, the familiar territory becoming one of his favorite places to grip, as his other hand threaded through short pink hair, pulling enough to tilt Szayel's head back. He used the angle to his advantage and his long tongue slipped deeper into Szayel's mouth.

.

Szayel hummed in approval as Nnoitra pushed him back into the chair and then climbed on. He arched into the hold Nnoitra had on his throat, pressing their bodies together as much as he could. In the meantime, Szayel sucked on Nnoitra's tongue with wild abandon, moaning around it as if it were the sweetest of treats which, in a way, it was.

He let his hands roam Nnoitra's body, tearing and pulling at the cloth that separated them and then running his hands up Nnoitra's back. The smell of blood further enhanced his arousal, which was now starting to come to prominence. A pleasant tingle emanated from his scalp where Nnoitra gripped his hair and Szayel shivered.

.

Nnoitra pulled back, tugging on Szayel's bottom lip. He bit down, drawing blood, and the warmth of it was enough to cause a lecherous gleam to flash in his eye. He only let it go to sit back, shifting his hips atop the other man as he bent down to lick at Szayel's chest.

The trace of Szayel's release still clung to his skin. The flavor was new to him, but already Nnoitra was feeling that he couldn't get enough. He moved lower, liberating both the hair between his fingers and the throat beneath his hand, his mouth following the trail that Szayel had left behind. Savoring the taste, he adjusted himself, backing off almost completely from the chair. His fingers pressed roughly at Szayel's hips and his tongue flicked out against skin. He could feel the heat from Szayel's arousal, but ignored it, instead slipping his tongue into the man's Hollow hole, his eye raising to watch his partner's face as his continued his ministrations.

.

Szayel savored the pain from the bite. He sucked his lip into his mouth to savor the taste afterward, as well. Nnoitra's tongue on his body had his temperature rising. Szayel smirked down at the man and took a deep breath, allowing his body to be worshiped. When the man stuck his tongue inside Szayel's Hollow hole, he fisted black locks in his hand and groaned, long and deep, as he became fully erect. Szayel's head dropped back and his breathing began to pick up.

He had trained Nnoitra well.

.

Nnoitra chuckled against skin when he heard the moan rip from Szayel's throat. His tongue moved deeper, sliding along the inside of the man's Hollow hole with long, slow licks.

He stepped back onto the floor, keeping the connection of his mouth to flesh even as he worked his hakama down from around his waist. Nnoitra's motions were brief and he tried to keep them subtle so as not to take away from the delectable work that his tongue and teeth were doing. When he climbed back over the Octava, he relished in the feel of his naked skin against the other man's.

He pulled his head back to sit up, his hand wrapping firmly around himself. He eyed Szayel as he pumped his fist, his back arching somewhat and a rough groan escaping his throat. Leaning over, his free hand holding him up above the other Espada, he licked at the blood that had sprouted on Szayel's lip, his tongue pushing past into the other man's mouth once again. He kept Szayel occupied with the kiss while he lowered himself, sliding into the slick Hollow hole all at once.

.

Szayel shuddered as Nnoitra continued his ministrations. He hardly noticed what the man was doing beyond the warm press of his tongue to sensitive flesh. Szayel glimpsed naked skin with no small amount of approval as Nnoitra licked his lips. His tongue darted out for a taste of both before Nnoitra invaded his mouth once more. Szayel bit down on that tongue enough to add some of the other man's blood to the potent mixture. He was busy sucking this down when Nnoitra did something entirely unexpected.

Szayel's entire body stiffened as pleasure so intense it was almost painful jolted through his nervous system. Szayel's head slammed back, his corresponding cry so raw and loud it hurt both his throat and his ears. He held a shaking hand against Nnoitra's torso, but was unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

.

Nnoitra groaned at the teeth biting down against his tongue, the taste of blood only adding to their kiss. He was somewhat taken aback by Szayel's extreme response to his movements, though that didn't stop him from delighting in it. When the other man threw his head back, Nnoitra grinned fiercely, the cry sending a shiver up his spine.

"Sorry," he remarked, though it was clear by his smile and the satisfaction in his tone that he wasn't. He slid a hand up to Szayel's neck, fingers curling around his throat, nails grazing against skin. Nnoitra adjusted. He pulled out, all of his strength on the arm that held him up, his one daunting eye leering down at the Octava.

"I just figured someone'd done this to ya before."

In complete contradiction to his apology, he shifted again, rolling his hips as he steadily slipped back in. His fingers contracted. The next movement was faster, his breath catching in his throat when he forced himself back down. Nnoitra kept up his thrusts, and while they were quickening, he was still moving slowly compared to his usual vigorous poundings. He dropped his head to run his tongue up the length of Szayel's throat, meeting his mouth again with fervor.

.

Szayel panted and shuddered, his hand trembling where it touched Nnoitra. It was, without a doubt, the most intense feeling he had ever experienced. Szayel had always known his Hollow hole was a weak point for him, which was why he had diminished its size and relocated it to a much more discreet place. It appeared he would need to make further alterations. As pleasurable as it was, he did not want to nor could he afford to show this kind of weakness to anyone. Least of all the Quinta. Especially when the man found the little present Szayel had laid out for him. It was bad enough when he had access to his reiatsu. Szayel imagined he'd have to use Gabriel on someone without it.

"No one else would dare-" The rest of his reply was cut off by another excruciating moan as Nnoitra pushed back into him. Szayel knew he couldn't stop him without worsening the situation, so he reached up with his other trembling hand and held on to the man's sides as he began to move in earnest. Each thrust tore another cry from his throat. His back arched, and he clenched so tightly around the dildo inside of him that he thought he must have broken it.

Nnoitra's lips on his own gained him some measure of sanity, but not enough to still his voice or his twitching and shuddering body. His cock sat painfully erect on his stomach, each brush of Nnoitra's body against it sending an additional thrill through Szayel's nervous system. He truly would not last long at this rate.

.

Nnoitra pulled away to lick his lips, and grinned. He commended himself for coming up with such an ingenious idea, for being able to catch the Octava so off his guard. He dipped his head to slide his tongue along the line of Szayel's jaw.

Perhaps it was because of what he saw when he entered the room, or the gratification he received from forcing the other man into such a defenseless position, or even the simple fact that he was getting off on the noises falling from Szayel's lips, but something tightened in the pit of his stomach and he bit down on an earlobe.

"Good," he started, his voice lowering dangerously when he spoke again. "Cause it's _mine_."

His possessive desire was soon overriding every other thought that he had. And he sank his teeth into the side of Szayel's neck, his movements picking up at the blood against his tongue. Nnoitra straightened as much as he could without halting his thrusts, focusing on the other man's expression and savoring each moan that passed between his lips. Reaching back, his hand slipped between Szayel's legs, and he felt around for a moment, flashing his teeth when his fingers clicked the small button that had the vibrations shooting through the Espada's body once again.

.

Szayel hardly noticed any of the other pain Nnoitra was causing him. His senses were dominated by one thing and one thing alone: the give and take of his Hollow hole as Nnoitra's cock brushed forcefully against it. All other notions were rendered obsolete, including the desire to protest against something as wrong as the words hissed into his ear. Szayel tried. His lips trembled and he started to mouth the word 'incorrect,' but the addition of Nnoitra's teeth sinking into his flesh had his back arching again and his toes curling.

When the dildo vibrated to life inside of him, it was all over. Szayel jerked hard enough that he felt his spine would shatter as he came. Following the most intense orgasm in his memory, Szayel blacked out for a few seconds, his body slumping in the seat as his head toppled forward.

.

Nnoitra laughed at the reactions he received, and as Szayel fought for words, his grin widened.

His hips moved faster and he found that he was gritting his teeth to keep himself from panting. It did not surprise him when Szayel came, though the strength of it did. If he had known that he would get this sort of rise from the other man, he would have done this at their first meeting. The feel of the Octava's release against his skin was enough to bring him over the edge, and he pushed himself roughly through the hole to splatter against the chair.

He raised an eye, scanning the other man's face as he reached back to switch the vibrator off. The fingers around Szayel's throat tensed and he lifted his other hand to slap the other man across the cheek; it wasn't gentle, but not as harsh as it could have been.

"C'mon," he started, chuckling deeply. "Fuck, ya really can't handle me, huh?"

.

Szayel came to a second before the slap. His head jerked to the side, and he put a hand to his cheek as he scowled. This was quickly returned to his lap once he was made aware that his physical strength was slightly lacking-as was fitting for one in his condition.

"Any such stimulus would provoke the same reaction, you are aware," he replied, his tone dry. Szayel cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. He was putting on a good show, but the truth was that he wasn't all back yet. Subtle tremors ran up his legs, making him uncertain as to whether he'd be able to stand, let alone walk. His arms weren't much better, as he had realized. Szayel vowed that he would complete the Hollow hole alteration before the day was through. Just as soon as Nnoitra left and he was able to walk once more.

.

Nnoitra recognized that something was holding the other man back, but beyond that knowledge paid little attention. The words had him smiling fiendishly and he had to fight back a laugh as he spoke.

"Quit bein' a fuckin' bastard about it."

He was still finishing the words when he pushed up onto his arms, his hips moving back swiftly; a shiver coursed through his veins at the sensation, at the feel of cock sliding out of the other man. Nnoitra stepped onto the floor and straightened, squaring his shoulders, glaring down at the immobile Espada. Grabbing his hakama, he started to get dressed, his head cocking to the side as he tugged the white fabric up around his waist. He glanced briefly at the toy still seated inside of Szayel. Bending, he reached for it, extracting it with one rough pull.

Nnoitra eyed it for a moment before letting it fall from his fingers, focusing again on Szayel's face. He grinned. "I guess that's how ya get off though, huh?"

.

Szayel's smirk was interrupted by the Quinta pulling out, which sent a spasm through his body. He shivered as it finished, but distracted himself by running idle fingers through the semen cooling on his chest. He could feel some seeping down his back as well, not that he could maneuver enough to reach it at the moment. Strength was already returning to him, but it wasn't enough for him to feel comfortable just yet.

And then Nnoitra pulled the dildo from him and he shuddered once more, his eyelids fluttering. His feet, however, stayed firmly against the ground.

"I am sure you don't imagine I am limited to one pleasure or another," he replied, his voice still a little breathy. Szayel ran his clean hand through his hair and smiled. "Mmmm...but so nice to find someone who might be able to keep up."

.

Nnoitra adjusted himself and smoothed out his jacket. "I'm sure ya got all kinds," he started, leering at the other man. "So it must be an accident I always catch ya with just the one."

The second phrase out of Szayel's mouth made Nnoitra grin. Fixing his collar, he moved closer to the chair. He reached down to grab Szayel's wrist, pulling on the man's arm and running his tongue out against his palm. Nnoitra licked between Szayel's fingers before sucking each one into his mouth, letting out a groan at the taste. When he let go of the Octava's limb, he stood upright once more, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and raising an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me ya got attached to me already."

.

Szayel's smile didn't waver. Nnoitra might have thought he knew everything there was to him, but that was his mistake.

"Perhaps when you're ready," he said, his tone dry once more. There was time for this and everything else. Szayel would, of course, have to alter his pattern to keep from growing bored, but for now he was quite content with this particular plaything and these particular pleasures.

Szayel allowed the man to twirl that talented tongue around his fingers. He licked his lips at the tightening in his abdomen that the sucking sensation brought on.

"You have your uses." Szayel's legs had finally stopped their trembling, so he crossed them and lounged back in the chair as he allowed his gaze to roam Nnoitra's body.

.

Nnoitra ground his teeth. He hated to be talked down to and Szayel was no exception to the rule, regardless of whatever their relationship had become. Looking down at the man, now so relaxed and content with himself, Nnoitra snarled; gripping Szayel's chin in his fingers, he forced the other Espada's head towards him, his own back straightening and making him feel that much taller, that much stronger.

"If ya want to make use of yerself, then give me what I came here for." His voice was rough, laced with the frustration of being derided by the Octava. He bent his head to look Szayel in the eye. "Unless yer only good for a quick fuck."

.

Szayel was infinitely glad he had recovered enough to stand as the Quinta hauled him to his feet by his chin. Ordinarily, he might have cut that hand off for touching him so disrespectfully, but Szayel was forced to let it pass for the moment. As it was, he never lost his cool gaze or his smirk, when it came. Szayel snatched the hand once he was standing and then brushed Nnoitra's fingers across his lips. Szayel bit down on one hard enough to hurt, but not quite enough to break it.

"Ah, yes, your trivial little problem," Szayel said, after he finally let the hand drop. "Perhaps I'll hear it later." He licked his lips once more and then moved around the side of his chair, ignoring whatever it was the Quinta was doing.

.

Nnoitra did his best to ignore the bite to his finger. Even if the pain had bothered him, it would pass. What wasn't going to go away so easily was his "trivial little problem," and hearing it referred to that way only heightened the Quinta's irritation.

"Maybe ya should," he said, fighting the urge to clench his fists as the other man walked past him. "It'll be yer problem too, soon enough."

He thought back to the other day, when Szayel had baited him against Grimmjow; he thought back to the other night, when he had gone along with the scientist's plan- with the few improvisations that he had made to it. The idea that none of this would have happened without Szayel's input flooded his head and his entire body tightened. "Besides," he started, picking at his teeth to feign indifference. "It's yer fault anyway."

.

Szayel halted in his progress toward activating the door into the adjoining shower room at that. He turned his head to regard the Quinta, brow raised.

"Is this about your fight with the Sexta? Or is it, perhaps, about his little encounter with your Fraccion?" Szayel asked, his expression carefully neutral. Ordinarily, he might have pushed things further. However, he was currently still recovering somewhat.

"Either way, I _did_ prepare a few things. But I'm afraid that will have to wait until I'm finished." Szayel smiled and then activated the biometric scanner in the wall, which was tuned to recognize his DNA alone. A panel in the wall hissed open and Szayel stepped into the bathroom. It was a spacious, luxurious place even for its lack of decor. A hot tub sat in prominence in the center of the room while counters lined the walls A shower large enough for _many_ took up an entire wall, its reinforced frosted glass doors hiding several shower heads. Las Noches might have been a desert, but Szayel Aporro was an expert at synthesizing anything and everything he needed.

Szayel headed for the shower without further ado.

.

Nnoitra didn't bother to ask how Szayel knew so much about the situation when he had been locked away in his lab the entire time that it was taking place. He imagined that it was one of those annoying Arrancar that he tended to see wandering around with tubes and equipment. Hell, the Octava had enough of them. Regardless, the fact that Szayel was already conscious of the circumstances meant one thing to him: he didn't have to waste time explaining.

It vexed him that the other man couldn't just make things easier and hand over whatever it was he had been working on. And when he watched the wall open and caught a glimpse of the showers, he understood. Szayel's smile only confirmed his thoughts. Following would have been simple. But he had no intention of giving in to any of the Octava's demands, spoken or otherwise. The fact that he was even expected to fall into such a moronic trap was enough to heighten his anger.

He watched as Szayel moved through the doorway, and clenched his jaw. "I ain't got time fer this shit," he barked, the edginess apparent in his voice. He turned to head back out the way that he came. "Bring it to me when yer done."

Now that his cock had begun to stir again, he was pissed, and the only thing that kept him from turning around was his knowledge of the man waiting for him in his suite. He cracked his knuckles and grinned.

.

Szayel only half-expected Nnoitra to follow him. In all actuality, he preferred this outcome. Having his weak point exploited had left him shaky and he didn't think he would be able to keep up the facade of control during another round with the Quinta. Moreover, he really did have work to do. After cleaning and redressing, Szayel intended to complete the procedure of moving his Hollow hole's location as quickly and efficiently as possible. The Quinta had grown too confident in their relationship. Szayel didn't like it. This was partially why he had made the man wait. Even though he had the supplies-two collars which had the capability to remove vocal functions, sight, hearing, and smell, limit reiatsu use, prevent both ejaculation and erection, inhibit digestive functions and sleep, trigger the nervous system's pain response on a cellular level; all of this picked and chosen by the wielder who was also the only one who could remove it besides Szayel-ready.

"I'll send them by Fraccion," he called, as he stepped into the shower and turned on the water. Indeed, the Quinta would receive them before the hour was finished.


	15. Part II: Chapter 8

.

**The Coronation of Self: Part II**

**Chapter Eight**

**By: Ryoko & SZP**

Tesla waited nude on the fresh, clean sheets on Nnoitra's bed on all fours with his hips relaxed and facing away from the door, as he had been doing for hours after finishing with all the cleanup. First, Tesla had summoned a team of Numeros to repair the wall, then he had scoured the room for traces of Grimmjow's reiatsu and cleansed them before replacing the carpet, bedsheets, and mattress. Before the new materials arrived, Tesla had scoured his body until his skin was raw and new, both inside and out. He had taken Verruga to himself in the shower and punctured every last bruise mark the Sexta left on his body, draining the blood where he could, and carving it out when it would not come. Of course, Tesla made sure to wait for the fresh bleeding to stop so that he would not sully Nnoitra's brand new, even better and sturdier bed. And naturally, he scoured the bathroom for any trace of dirt after he was finished, then took another shower just in case.

His broken ribs hurt and he feared they might puncture something, but he never once paused in his duties. Nor did he alter his customary position after assuming it.

.

Nnoitra's anger seemed to intensify with each of his steps from Szayel's lab to his own residence, and by the time he was at his door, he was seething.

When he stepped inside, he let out a sharp breath. The room smelled like disinfectant and when he looked around, he realized why. Everything was pristine; his wall had been rebuilt, the floors had been cleaned, and the sheets on his bed were crisp and white. It looked brand new, but he wasn't one to wait around appreciating the furniture. And with the way his body was tightening, it was the farthest thing from his mind.

He kicked off his boots, disregarding the fact that they had already scuffed the freshly polished floor. He removed his jacket next, letting it fall into a pile at his feet, where his hakama followed suit. Only when he was completely exposed did he turn his gaze to the man on the bed.

Tesla was in the position that he had taught him so long ago. The sight had him licking his lips as he moved towards the bed. He walked around it, instead of climbing on, inspecting the Fracción's body, regarding his posture, the slight curve in his back that had his ass raised _just enough_; he bent slightly to look beneath the other man, his eyebrow raising at the scars across his chest. He would deal with it later.

Getting up onto the mattress, he leaned back against his headboard. Nnoitra reached out to grab a fistful of Tesla's hair, pulling him closer and growling low against his ear. "I ain't hard yet," he said, as if it was the blond's fault. Another tug had Tesla on his stomach. "Do somethin' about it."

.

Tesla kept his breathing even and deep. He could feel Nnoitra's reiatsu approaching, step by aching step. Tesla fought his body, fought not to harden at the thought of his master coming for him. Nnoitra wouldn't like that, he never did enjoy Tesla being too obvious with his emotions or desires. And that was fine with Tesla, because it made Nnoitra happy that he be obedient. In the end, his success was narrow but tangible. Tesla remained still and poised as his Espada circled him. With the weight of that gaze on his nude form, Tesla was already mentally preparing for the inevitable.

He gave no cry and did not make any motion of distress as Nnoitra grabbed him, pulled him down. It was nothing short of a dream come true to be able to please Nnoitra this way. As always, he had to fight to control himself, to keep his breath and hands steady as he reached for Nnoitra's cock.

"Yes, Nnoitra-sama," came his dutiful reply before he wrapped one hand around Nnoitra's flaccid shaft and began to stroke. His motions were steady and sure as he had been trained. He did not falter, and when Nnoitra began to rise, Tesla leaned forward and took him into his pristine mouth. He began to suck, just the way Nnoitra liked it. After many corrections, he had perfected the technique and did his best to perform in as flawless a manner as possible each time.

.

Nnoitra hardly reacted when that hand wrapped around him. And even though his body responded, the lack of vigor only pissed him off. Tesla had been trained for this and so his motions were formulated and predictable. Even the heat of his mouth and the suction from his lips was something that Nnoitra had experienced too many times before, something that, while arousing, had little success in cooling his temper. Tesla's eagerness and absolute loyalty might have been enough before, but now that Nnoitra had been surrounding himself with the untamed and improvised side of sex with Szayel, he found himself getting bored.

He had to fight to keep his hips from moving up to thrust simply for the sake of more friction. Instead, he dug his nails against Tesla's scalp, pulling him closer until he could feel against his stomach the hot breath as it passed through the blond's nostrils. He said nothing, only grunted. If Tesla had learned anything from him, he would know that Nnoitra wanted more and he wanted it now.

.

Even if he had done nothing else to indicate it, Tesla would be able to sense Nnoitra's anger from this alone. He relished the nails digging into his scalp because it meant that Nnoitra wanted something from him. Tesla knew exactly what it was. When Nnoitra pulled him forward, he was ready with his breathing even and his throat relaxed to admit his admirable erection. Tesla immediately snapped into action, beginning a fast pace in accordance with his master's wishes. He even went so far as to keep his thoughts on other things lest he become aroused. Nnoitra hadn't given him permission yet, and he had learned, after a month with a rubber band tied around his dick that he had been instructed never to remove, that even the indication of his pleasurable state of mind was Nnoitra's to control

To add in necessary variation, Tesla reached up to fondle Nnoitra's balls as the man's shaft sank down his throat again and again.

.

Nnoitra's breathing picked up to match the rhythm of Tesla's motions. His grip tightened, and he pushed his hips away from the bed, driving himself deeper into the other man's mouth. Unconsciously, he had spread his legs farther, his entire body leaning back and up into the touch. When his muscles began to tense, he yanked on the blond hair knotted between his fingers and pulled Tesla off of him, groaning at the final slide of that tongue against his cock.

He let go of the other man and sat up on his knees. Nnoitra could have gotten off if he had let the man continue, but he wasn't ready. There was still so much that he had planned for his subordinate.

Grabbing Tesla's face in his hand, he lifted his chin so that the man could see him as he glared down. He raised his arm and backhanded Tesla sharply across the face; there was no real excuse for his actions, aside from proving that he was in charge which both of them already knew, but he was already feeling better, the sound still ringing in his ears. When he released Tesla's chin, it was to forcefully push his head to the side. His fingers grazed over a shoulder, digging in as he spoke. "On yer back."

.

Tesla accommodated every one of Nnoitra's thrusts as he worked to pleasure the man. He had to keep his mind very blank and still in order for his joy at making Nnoitra so aroused not to show. Tesla worked, now anticipating an end and preparing himself for it, but he was suddenly yanked away. Tesla did his best to still his breathing so it would not disturb Nnoitra. He sat back while his master adjusted himself. And then those wonderful fingers, Nnoitra's fingers, were gripping his chin. It made the slap even more worth it. Tesla took it all, the shove too, without as much as a whimper. There had been a time when traitorous thoughts would creep into his mind during moments like this, but Nnoitra had long ago conquered that part of him as well as the apathetic state of mind that had replaced it. Now, Tesla felt nothing but grateful that Nnoitra had taken the time to hit him, to show and tell him what he wanted.

"Yes, sir. Nnoitra-sama."

Tesla went down without even a glimmer of the fight he might have put up at one time. He began to relax his body in anticipation of whatever was to come, but then there was a knock at the door and a soft, reedy voice calling out.

"Szayel Aporro-sama has sent me for Nnoitra Gilga-sama!"

.

The undisputed obedience to his orders was something that Nnoitra commended himself on. It had been a long process, but training Tesla to become what he was today was something that the Quinta would not regret. The man took his words as irrefutable fact, accepted his actions without question, revered him like a God. And it was truly the simple things, Tesla's immediate adjustment at his command, that really riled him up.

When the Fracción was on his back, Nnoitra was able to better see the scars across his chest. He reached out to scrape his nail across one, mimicking the movement on a few others, before sliding his hand up and around Tesla's neck. He opened his mouth to speak and stopped at the voice outside the door.

Of course. Szayel was fucking him over even now. He lifted his head and glared at the door, his reiatsu raging in his attempts to scare away the bastard that had interrupted him.

"Leave it," he yelled, pressing down on Tesla's throat. "I'm fuckin' busy."

Nnoitra looked down at the blond and ran a finger over one of his scars. "What the fuck is this?"

.

Tesla lay completely still as Nnoitra explored his body, his fingers running over the wounds Tesla had caused himself in attempts of ridding his body of the traitorous blood that had risen to the surface at the Sexta's behest.

He waited with patience for Nnoitra to finish reprimanding the Fraccion that had dared to interrupt him. Tesla did not know why the Octava had sent something to Nnoitra, but he had his suspicions. However, that didn't matter. Whatever the case, he would listen and obey without hesitation.

"I removed the bruises, sir."

The Octava's Fraccion spoke up one last time, and then it seemed it was gone.

.

Nnoitra paid no further attention to the Fracción outside of his door. Whatever Szayel had delivered would have to wait.

He stuck his finger into a cut above Tesla's collarbone. _The bruises._ Nnoitra realized now that he had meant the marks that Grimmjow left during his assault. This was proof of his training at its finest. Still, he was not willing to reward the other man so easily and therefore said nothing, though his slight grin gave away the satisfaction that he was getting out of the situation.

Adjusting to straddle him, Nnoitra lowered his head, sinking his teeth into one wound before shifting to do the same to another, and then another. Tesla would not react until he had given him permission to do so. And, because of the past few days with the Octava, Nnoitra had become tired of working with no result. Lifting his head slightly, he bit down hard on an earlobe. "Make some noise," he growled, his command severe. "And none of that exaggerated bullshit."

He could feel the heat of his own breath as he moved back down and along his lesser's torso, continuing to irritate the wounds with his tongue and leaving his own fresh bite marks on familiar skin in between.

.

Nnoitra didn't have to say anything. The slight grin told Tesla enough, and his heart swelled at the thought that his actions had been correct, that Nnoitra was pleased with them. But it still took considerable willpower for him to keep his breathing even as when Nnoitra straddled him, it put more pressure on his broken ribs. It became easier as his master began to bite him, the pain turning toward the pleasure he had been trained to feel. Tesla didn't allow himself too much though. He hadn't been given permission for anything yet, after all. And he didn't know if it would even be acceptable this time.

Nnoitra moved to his earlobe and bit it, making Tesla want to do the same to his own lip. It was easy to comply with his Espada's wish. Tesla's breathing picked up just the slightest and he began to cry out, not too little but he hoped not too much either, as he allowed some of his delight at pleasing his master to show in his voice. However, his cock remained flaccid due to the intense mental and physical training that Nnoitra had honored him with.

Nnoitra was reclaiming Tesla's body as his own, putting fresh marks on his skin. Everything was as it should be and Tesla couldn't have been happier.

.

Nnoitra was pleased for now with the response that he received. He would never admit it and he rarely rewarded it, but Tesla had a knack for putting his desires behind those of his Espada. As he should. As he had been taught to do. It seemed that every time Nnoitra came into contact with Szayel, the man was aroused or getting there, the ravenous bastard. But to know that he had complete control over someone made Nnoitra crazed.

He showed his gratitude in the form of a particularly harsh bite. It was the first of his to draw blood and the taste made him vicious. The sounds spilling from Tesla's mouth only urged him on as his greed took him over, his hands moving violently down the other man's chest, nails catching on the wounds and tearing with his rough motions. He groaned deeply at the sensation of skin ripping under his touch.

Nnoitra bent to lap at the blood that had sprouted his wake. He adjusted to slide his tongue up the side of Tesla's cheek, over the welt that was beginning to rise there. Rocking his hips against the blond's naked skin, he bit down again, hard.

.

The fact that Nnoitra was paying attention to him, that he needed him for something, _anything_, made Tesla ecstatic. He let a bit more of this fervor show as Nnoitra's teeth sank into his flesh and as the man licked away the blood. Nails caught in his wounds and tore them as Tesla let out a rough breath. His body wanted him to arch up into that agony, but he restrained himself. He wasn't worthy enough yet or Nnoitra would have allowed him the privilege. Blood welled up to the surface and spilled over his skin, sliding along the contours of his abdomen, chest, and neck.

.

Leaning back, Nnoitra licked blood from the corner of his mouth. He watched Tesla's restraint, his ventures at slowing his breath and keeping his calm. He gripped his lesser's chin, fingers tightening painfully. "I told ya to make some noise," he started, his own teeth grinding. He threw Tesla's head back against the bed. "Or did ya forget how to moan like a whore?"

Nnoitra pulled back, propping himself up on an arm, his other hand wrapping around Tesla's throat and pushing him down into the mattress. He rocked his hips, making sure to slide his cock slowly against the other man's, his eye focusing on Tesla's face waiting to see if the man would break his composure.

.

Tesla was ashamed that his master had to correct him. He should have known better, anticipated this, given Nnoitra more. Tesla immediately let loose with that part of his restraint, allowing his voice to ring free and clear with his true emotions. The tightening around his throat only made it better, and he let Nnoitra hear that. His gasps and moans, especially as Nnoitra slid against him, directed his gaze right at Tesla, were free and allowed precedence.

.

Nnoitra continued to move his hips. He looked down at Tesla, grinning at the moans that escaped from the man's throat. Fingers pulsed around his neck once more and then released as Nnoitra slid himself back. He grabbed Tesla's thighs and spread him, settling back on the mattress between the man's open legs. Nnoitra reached down to pump himself, his eye scanning up the Fracción's body, licking his lips at the bloodied chest, the bruises around his neck, the way his mouth hung open.

"Get yerself ready," he said, keeping his gaze fixated on the way Tesla's chest rose and fell. And then, because he so desperately craved the feel of having someone under his control, he spoke again. "And if ya want me to watch, ya better make it worth my time."

.

Tesla was confused for a moment as his Espada pulled back, and then his thighs were being spread and everything became clear. He knew what was expected of him even before Nnoitra gave the generous command, knew and was so grateful that had he been erect at the time he might have come. That Nnoitra was still allowing him this honor though he had done wrong earlier in the day proved just how remarkable of an Espada he was. Truly the best in all areas and aspects, even down to this minute detail.

"Yes, Nnoitra-sama. I will," he said, his voice low and breathy. He shuddered at the fact this particular mental block had now been removed as he slid nimble hands down his body. Tesla dipped his fingers into each laceration, pushing them until he expanded the wounds, as he worked his way downward. Hot cries dropped from his throat at each, his nipples becoming erect.

Tesla painted his body with his fresh blood as he went, sending trails of red over pale white flesh. He opened his legs further and lifted himself like an offering for Nnoitra's questing eye as he began to dip his fingers inside. Tesla spread himself open wide for Nnoitra's view, his pleasure, as he worked. Fingers thrust and spread to the rough cadence of his moans and sighs. When he was finished, his entrance at the appropriate firmness that Nnoitra liked, Tesla withdrew his fingers up his body once more in a repeat of the first time. He stuck each one in his mouth and licked it clean.

Tesla hovered, primed and waiting for his master.

.

Nnoitra leered. If he hadn't the self-restraint that he did, the fact that the Fracción was giving in to every one of his commands, accompanied by the way in which he followed through with said orders, would have been unbearable.

Nnoitra watched as Tesla's hands slid down himself, growled low in his throat at the wounds opening wider with each of the man's movements. The fact that Tesla had refrained from arousal for so long was impressive, and as long as he kept up with demands, Nnoitra would reward him for it later. For now, he was just enjoying the show. The blond's hips raised from the mattress and his legs spread further, giving the Espada the perfect view of Tesla's fingers thrusting into and out of himself. The sight had him licking his lips. And when Tesla's fingers pulled out and were then sucked into his mouth, Nnoitra's breath hitched.

He had been keeping a firm grip on himself throughout the other man's spectacle. Every sound that Tesla made had Nnoitra's hands slowing, and every thrust of his fingers had Nnoitra's thumb sliding over the head of his cock. By the time Tesla had stopped, now simply awaiting his next instruction, Nnoitra could feel his pulse beating heavily against his palm.

He pushed down on the insides of Tesla's thighs, spreading him even further, his eye glancing down at the man before he pushed in all at once; even when he was in, he pressed tighter, feeling Tesla's skin against his stomach. "Y'know yer good," he said, fighting to keep his voice calm despite his quickening breath. "Keep up with the noises and you'll be a perfect slut." He laughed deeply to himself.

"And don't get off until I say." He didn't need to tell Tesla that his arousal was now permitted. And he didn't waste time with speaking again, instead pulling back out and beginning his thrusts at a quick pace.

.

Nnoitra's response was so immediate that Tesla knew he had done a good job. His moan was heavy and deep, the loudest of any thus far as Nnoitra pushed inside of him. His head sank into the mattress and his toes curled as that awesome voice praised him, his cheeks also becoming flushed. And then his last mental block, his last real restraint was removed for him. It was a good thing, too. Now that it was Nnoitra thrusting into him, Nnoitra's thick cock filling him, Tesla wasn't sure if he would've been able to hold it back. His arousal stirred to life and came to full prominence within a few seconds until it lay bouncing against his stomach with his Espada's movements.

Tesla's arms curled by his head as he resisted the urge to touch his master. He moaned freely and with abandon as the man rode him. It was so good that it even turned the pain emanating from his ribcage into pleasure.

.

Nnoitra moved roughly, his hands gripping onto Tesla's thighs to keep him from shifting on the bed with each of his jarring thrusts. He kept the man's legs far enough apart so that he could fit himself easily between, lifting Tesla slightly so that when he drove in deeper, it was at a new angle. He paid almost no attention to Tesla's responses, only noticing that he was already fully aroused. Beyond that, the man's reactions meant little to him. He was overtaken by his own selfish desires and used the blond as an outlet for them; it was what Tesla had been trained for, and what Tesla's own gratification relied on.

Nnoitra's thrusts picked up, his breath following suit, and he moved his hands to the other man's chest, pressing down hard to keep himself up. The torn flesh beneath his fingers made him crazy with lust. He lowered his head to bite, to fill his senses with the sweat and the blood that settled on the top of Tesla's skin. His pelvis rolled, thrusting violently as he fought to drag out the delectable agony for as long as he could.

When he came, it was with a throaty growl, a sharp jerk of his hips, and the straightening of his back, the muscles across his shoulders tensing painfully. He hardly waited before pulling out. His one eye looked down at Tesla, his cock still hard and neglected. Nnoitra reached out to slip a finger into a bleeding wound, sucking it into his mouth as he stood up from the bed. He said nothing.

.

Tesla responded to the pressure against his thighs eagerly, his cries now alternating with Nnoitra's name-title included, of course. The fact that Nnoitra deigned to use his body this way, that he deemed Tesla worthy enough for it, had almost always been a source of immense pleasure and pride for him. Before, he might not have been able to stop himself from coming from that heady knowledge, but Tesla had learned much over the years. So it was that Nnoitra was able to ride him with wild abandon without having reason to doubt Tesla's loyalty.

When his Espada came, Tesla was filled with much more than his semen. Although he remained aroused and although Nnoitra didn't say a word, Tesla felt satisfied from the bottom of his heart. He gazed at Nnoitra with thinly veiled adoration as the man tasted of his blood once more and awaited his next command.

.

Nnoitra didn't bother to wipe the fluid from himself, or the sweat off of his body, or the blood at the corner of his mouth. He ignored Tesla on the bed and walked to the door, opening it and looking down at the package that was waiting there. At the moment, he was too tired to worry about it; whatever it was, it could wait until the morning. Nnoitra merely kicked it into his room and slammed the door shut again behind him.

"I'm goin' to sleep," he said to the blond, his tone rough. When he reached the side of the bed, he glared down at Tesla who now looked more like clutter than anything arousing. Bending down, he fisted a clump of hair and shoved the Fracción from the mattress before climbing on himself. Nnoitra rolled over onto his stomach, letting out a sigh when his muscles finally relaxed. Tesla would know to get the lights before he left, and if he was smart, he would leave quickly.

.

Tesla lay motionless even though he could already anticipate Nnoitra's thoughts. The man spoke in confirmation of Tesla's assumption and he was thrown off the bed. Tesla landed on his knees, grateful that he had managed to keep most of the blood and semen off Nnoitra's sheets. He was up on his feet and heading for the door in an instant.

"Yes, sir. Goodnight, Nnoitra-sama," he said as he flicked off the lights and then darted out the door. He had already learned his lesson about lingering many times over. It was not for his eye that Nnoitra sprawled so delectably, nor would he be permitted to keep that sight as his master slept.

Instead, Tesla would wait outside of the door all night and keep his reiatsu muted so as not to disturb Nnoitra while he slept. But first, a shower to make himself more presentable. Because he had been given the privilege of arousal but not the according one to relieve it, Tesla would remain awake all night so as to better maintain his interest. If he slept-assuming he could-it would diminish by the time he woke up. It would somewhat wax and wane anyway, but Tesla would keep it until his master said otherwise. Nnoitra would find him pristinely naked and kneeling outside of his door with his head bowed after Tesla prepared him breakfast, which would be sitting hot and squirming on the table.


	16. Part II: Chapter 9

.

**The Coronation of Self: Part II**

**Chapter Nine**

**By: Ryoko & SZP**

Yylfordt still wasn't fully recovered from what happened to him. Not that anyone would know. No, his _dearest_ brother had made sure of that. He'd said he had plans for Yylfordt, big plans. The thought made him want to blow the whole thing open regardless of the shame it would bring him. He'd do it just to spite the bastard.

But before that, Yylfordt had decided he would try something else. This shit with Grimmjow was going to keep happening as it always did despite whatever Yylfordt had to say about it. His brother was right about one thing: Yylfordt knew he was stubborn. The fact that the man had said it made him want to change things up even if he hadn't been thinking about it since Grimmjow said what he did about the Octava. They'd both been fucking him over for years now in one way or another, but he'd be damned if he let their forces combine in _any_ way. Besides, Yylfordt knew he was a better lay than his brother. And he would prove it.

So it was that he lay sprawled out on Grimmjow's bed like an offering, naked and fully erect as he waited for the asshole to get back.

.

Grimmjow stalked through the corridor. He ignored the bowing of heads and the fact that the Arrancar in the hallway moved aside to let him pass. The only thing that concerned him was the week he had been having. The crushing defeat from today only added to his already undermined pride; his sense of control had been ridiculed and it made his loathing for the two Espada responsible rise even beyond what it had already been. He was scarred, physically and psychologically, and while his body would heal, it was going to take some severe revenge to win back his dignity. Grimmjow was at least somewhat relieved that his pride had only been shaken in front of the Quinta and the Octava. Which meant that, at least for now, he could keep up with the façade of power.

He walked into his room, turning on the lights, and slammed the door closed behind him, mentally prepared for nothing but a shower and sleep. It caught him off guard then to find Yylfordt on his bed. Grimmjow did not disguise his leering, but shamelessly regarded the man's naked form, fully exposed and hard. He took off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor, and began to work at his hakama.

"Fuck off, Granz," he started. After the way their prior encounter had ended, he could only assume that this was a ploy to humiliate him even more. "I'm not in the mood for this shit."

.

Yylfordt wasn't surprised to see Grimmjow in such a bad mood. He'd felt the battle and heard about the result-not that the asshole had really stood a chance when going up against a higher ranking Espada. While it brought him no little satisfaction given what had been done to him, it was also an insult to his pride. After all, he was only as good as his Espada. However much he might have hated that fact, it was true and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing but keep up with his plan, proving himself and rebuilding the fucker's dignity. A goddamn dirty job but Yylfordt was the only one for it.

He shook his head and smiled even though what he really wanted to do was flick the guy off.

"I've been thinking. Maybe I've been a little too stubborn." he said, and paused. "I'd like to fix it."

Yylfordt raised his eyebrow as he spread his legs, which were bent at the knee, a little wider.

.

Grimmjow watched his subordinate while the last of his uniform dropped to the ground around his feet. He had no idea what was going on. It was only the night before that Yylfordt was begrudgingly giving in to his demands, and eventually had to be held down just to get any use out of him. And now he was spread open and teasing like a needy slut. The thought, in itself was tempting, and Grimmjow had to fight the desire to moan. _Why_ he was suddenly so compliant, however, made the Sexta dubious.

"You _are_ stubborn," he agreed, gritting his teeth. "And you're an idiot for thinkin' you can just come in here and fuck around with me." He didn't say it because it was obvious, but that was _his_ job. Grimmjow scanned Yylfordt's body, wondering if maybe the Quinta had put him up to this, though he couldn't imagine how. But it was all too easy to surrender to, and so he didn't.

.

Yylfordt let his gaze roam that nude body. In contrast to his personality, Grimmjow was an attractive man. It'd be easier to get it up for him if only he wasn't such a dickhead.

"Guilty, but I'm not fucking with you. I meant what I said," Yylfordt said, as he stood. He sauntered over to Grimmjow, his steps heavy with purpose. He was going through with this. He was really going to fucking do it.

Yylfordt reached out to slowly run his hands down Grimmjow's sides as he knelt down in front of the man and breathed against his cock. After a second, Yylfordt settled his hands on the Sexta's thighs and leaned in to lick him.

.

Grimmjow was surprised to see his Fracción stand and approach him. Of course. He was always so defiant, why put it past him now? He squared his shoulders, preparing himself for an assault of some kind; his mouth opened to speak again, but the words caught in his throat.

Yylfordt's hands were gentle, something that he would have never expected. And the move to his knees was willing. Grimmjow looked down himself, raising an eyebrow when the man's tongue passed between his lips, and letting out a sharp breath when it licked him. His muscles tightened, reawakening the pain in his body from the fight he had with Nnoitra. He did his best to wave it off, amazed that, for once, he didn't have to hold Yylfordt's mouth against him. Grimmjow loosened his hips, but kept still; as much as he wanted to question the other man's motives, such thoughts were disregarded in favor of pleasure, his blood rushing to his groin. When he spoke, his voice was rough and breathy.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

.

Yylfordt felt the muscles working under his fingers as Grimmjow began to rise in front of him. He was still entertaining a few half-hearted murderous thoughts, but wasn't about to do anything about them. Even if there was an opportunity, he had something to prove here first.

"What do you think?" he answered, and then his mouth was too busy for talking. If Yylfordt was honest, having Grimmjow react this way to him was kind of a thrill. He could see the benefits of this looming on the horizon. It caused him to suck a little harder, his tongue swirling around Grimmjow's cock for all he was worth. He kneaded the man's thighs and did his best to keep his breathing even and deep. Yylfordt's gaze rolled up to meet the Sexta's as the man's cock expanded in his mouth.

.

Any thoughts outside of this instant were disregarded. Grimmjow would have liked to take the credit for making Yylfordt this way, thinking that perhaps after so long, the man finally understood where he was coming from, but he couldn't. And at the moment, he didn't really care who was responsible or why. The most important thing that he could focus on was the heat of Yylfordt's mouth, the twist of his tongue, the suction of his lips, and the way that it had him so easily aroused. It was a struggle, but he kept his lower body motionless. If Yylfordt had really come up with this idea on his own, Grimmjow wanted to know what else he had in mind.

He reached down to knot his fingers through long blond hair, gripping tightly to let out some of his energy.

.

The familiar feeling of fingers gripping his hair was another sign of his success. Yylfordt picked up the pace. He took Grimmjow in until his nose met the man's stomach-no gagging this time-and back out in rapid succession as one hand dropped to fondle the man's balls. Yylfordt hated to think where he had learned that particular trick. He blocked the thought from his mind as he continued working. His own erection stood neglected but not forgotten. Yylfordt moaned around the cock in his mouth as he thought about it. He wanted nothing more than to stroke himself as he fucked Grimmjow with his mouth, but that would take away from his concentration. Yylfordt didn't want that. He was working to impress.

.

Grimmjow let out a deep groan at the first press of Yylfordt's nose against him. And then everything was moving quickly, and he was being groped on top of the sucking and the licking and the depth of his lesser's throat. His breathing became heavier to match with the other man's ministrations and his own pulse against Yylfordt's tongue, fingers pulling against the hair in his grasp as his hips steadily moved forward. He was quickly timing himself with the motions of the mouth around him, and his head fell back as the muscles in his legs tightened. Grimmjow's other hand lowered to join in holding Yylfordt's hair and he pulled every time that he drove himself forward. When he came, he continued to thrust against that willing tongue, stopping only when he felt his body begin to shake.

Pulling back, he exhaled deeply, loosening his fingers and letting his shoulders fall. He looked down at Yylfordt, still confused with the man's unexpected dedication.

"What the fuck was that?"

.

For once, Yylfordt didn't mind the fingers pulling his hair out or the fact that Grimmjow was thrusting down his throat. The feeling of victory, of power over this man, was heady. It ripped another cry from him. Yylfordt wanted badly to come as Grimmjow's semen shot down his throat. He looked up to see the man's head thrown back. Even if he hadn't had the motivation already, this would have been enough to make him want to lick Grimmjow's cock clean. Yylfordt did so, and then pulled back, licking his lips, as he was released.

"A blow job," he said, proving he could still be cheeky. Yylfordt ran a hand through his hair to tame it back down and sat back on his haunches before standing. "But it couldn't have been enough for you."

Yylfordt leaned in to place a few open-mouthed kisses along Grimmjow's collar bone.

"You should lay down."

.

Grimmjow hardly heard the other man's reply to his question. He was still coming down from his high. When Yylfordt's mouth was against his skin, he blinked and made himself aware of what was happening. Very little about their relationship was what he considered intimate, but the lips along his collarbone were warm and tender and had him wanting more.

The second comment rang in his ears, lingering even after the voice was gone. It made his eyes light up with a feral desire and his words sounded more like a growl when he spoke.

"You're comin' with me." In an instant, he grabbed Yylfordt by the arm and threw him down onto the bed. Grimmjow climbed over top of him, his hands wandering hungrily, his mouth slipping lower on heated skin, and his hips rocking against the hard length, his own arousal returning with every movement.

..

Yylfordt had been waiting for Grimmjow to get grabby. He was surprised it took this long. Yylfordt may not have enjoyed the position in the past, but he did his best to now. His head pressed into the pillows as Grimmjow worked on him and he moaned as his breathing picked up. Yylfordt spread his legs wide to better admit the man, his hands running over and massaging any and all flesh he could find.

He didn't have to fake a thing. The only reason he had resisted Grimmjow's advances up until this point was because the man was an insufferable ass who got off on humiliating him. But right now Grimmjow was doing exactly what he wanted him to do. This shift in their power dynamic got him hot, and that wasn't saying anything for the rough and sexy body working on his own.

.

Grimmjow's motions hastened, and the reactions that he was receiving did nothing but aid his arousal. He slid himself down the other man, his muscles tensing when he felt that hard cock against his abdomen; his mouth, as well, slipped lower, stopping to nip and lick at Yylfordt's collarbone and nipples and stomach. He was paying more attention to the Fracción than he would have ever dared, but Yylfordt was giving him the honest responses that he had always expected and he was going to take full advantage of it.

He moved down, massaging circles into the blond's thighs, spreading him wider. Grimmjow hesitated for just a brief moment before lowering his head, licking up Yylfordt's shaft and sucking the head of his cock between his lips. His fingers gripped tighter and he lifted the other man's hips from the mattress, giving a few long strokes of his tongue against the pulsing skin before backing off. He looked down at Yylfordt and grinned. If he let the man get off so soon, he'd have no reason to stick around. Grimmjow licked his lips.

.

Yylfordt had never been treated like this. It wasn't-Grimmjow wasn't even being an asshole about it. That was pretty fucking confusing, but Yylfordt didn't want to worry about it right then. He had better things on his mind, like Grimmjow's mouth on his nipples and stomach. Yylfordt sucked in a breath each time, his nipples becoming erect after Grimmjow left them. His head thrashed to the side and his back bowed as the man took him into his mouth, lifted him. Yylfordt was pretty fucking disappointed when he drew back, but didn't show it. Instead, he allowed the flush he usually suppressed to spread across his cheeks.

"Goddamn tease," he said, as he brushed a hand down his chest to dither with a nipple as he rocked his hips meaningfully.

.

Grimmjow actually laughed at the words. He hooked his arms underneath Yylfordt's knees, dragging him along the bed and onto himself. He adjusted his hips and slid into the other man as he leaned over to lick at Yylfordt's jaw. He pushed deeper, his lips moving up to an ear, his voice low and lecherous. "And what about _you_?" he asked, his mouth wandering over the side of Yylfordt's cheek. "Fuckin' spread out on my bed…"

His breath was hot against Yylfordt's neck; when he was fully enveloped, he bit down on the other man's earlobe. Fingers gripped at Yylfordt's ass, keeping him firmly in place on his lap. Grimmjow pulled out slowly. He savored the steady slide, groaning deeply when he was almost entirely out, before driving in once more and repeating the process.

.

Yylfordt went without a fight, his moans coming in earnest as Grimmjow slid into his body. He made no effort to repress them or slow his breathing as he usually did. It was a huge relief to be able to fully enjoy himself. He had never let go with Grimmjow before and had always tried not to think about what was happening to him. Now, he was able to delight in each inch of the man's cock as it filled him.

Yylfordt licked his lips as he heard Grimmjow speak as if from far away. The man was doing tantalizing things to his body with that mouth as well. He sucked in a breath, but it didn't help make his tone any more steady.

"Gave you a blow job, didn't I?" he said, his words punctuated by several gasps. Since he couldn't meet him thrust for thrust in this position, Yylfordt wrapped his legs around Grimmjow's waist and ground his ass against the man when he could. Grimmjow's rough grip both aided and pleasured him. He ran his hand through blue locks and gripped as the man bit down and began to move in earnest, hot cries coming with each pounding he received.

.

Grimmjow smiled when the other man's breathing finally started to pick up. His own was falling heavily, escaping with a grunt in time to each of his thrusts. He fought to keep himself slow, wanting to relish in the moment while he still had it, but the noises in his ears and the throb of his pulse and the body clenched around him made it difficult to keep calm.

The words brought back the sensation of Yylfordt's lips and tongue around him, and he tensed as a shiver raced up his spine. Despite his best efforts, he moved faster. Yylfordt's legs around his waist urged him on and the roll of his hips against Grimmjow's cock had him groaning. He cursed under his breath and dug his fingers harder into Yylfordt's thighs.

"Fuck, that was good too," he replied, his voice ragged. The words surprised him after they left his mouth, but he was soon disregarding it to focus on the skin beneath his lips and the man around him as he moved more quickly.

.

Yylfordt only smiled at the words because he knew the other man wouldn't be able to see it. It made the pleasure shooting through his body even better and he let out an especially loud moan as Grimmjow drove into him. Those fingers in his thighs had him gripping the Sexta harder and grinding against him more often whereas in the past he wouldn't have liked the sensation at all. Yylfordt was rocked into the mattress as Grimmjow increased the pace. His hand dropped from Grimmjow's hair to explore his back, the other one soon joining in. Yylfordt gripped the Espada who rode him and hung on. He knew it wouldn't be long now.

.

His muscles tightened at the hands across his back. The combined sensations of his thrusts and the other man grinding against him were driving him deeper, compelling his hips to move faster. Grimmjow growled low in the other man's ear, before moving his mouth to suck at Yylfordt's neck. His legs tensed and he held more firmly to the other man's for stability, feeling the bed shake with every one of his movements. Sweat dripped off of his face and he pulled his head back to look Yylfordt in the eyes. Grimmjow was panting. He let out a gravelly moan as he came, his lower body slowing drastically without stopping in full.

He released Yylfordt's thighs, steadying himself on the mattress which creaked slightly with his continued movements. When his hips jerked, he had to cut off his motion, though he kept himself buried deeply in the other man. The ache in his muscles brought him down onto his forearms, but he used the closeness to nuzzle against Yylfordt's shoulder, venturing to calm his breathing, and kissing along the side of his neck.

.

Yylfordt fought to hold on since today was different and he knew Grimmjow got pissed when he came first. He'd delighted in that in the past, but not now. Not when he was proving himself-although Yylfordt had mostly lost sight of that goal and was simply enjoying himself at this point. His hips rolled with Grimmjow's own as he neared his peak. The man sucking on his pulse almost brought him. His fingers dug into Grimmjow's back at the motion. But for some reason, it was the fucker looking him in the eyes that did it. Yylfordt would later dismiss that as a stupid coincidence-he'd goaded him into it, or maybe it was the way he looked at Yylfordt that suggested he was about to blow too. Whatever the case, Yylfordt's release was strong enough to make his toes curl, Grimmjow's own inside him prompting Yylfordt to ejaculate even a little more.

And then he was limp and breathing heavy as Grimmjow collapsed on top of him. Yylfordt shivered at the kisses and threaded a hand through Grimmjow's hair once more as he worked on calming himself down. So far, _so_ fucking good.

.

Grimmjow let himself stay this way for a few minutes as he came down. He focused on the sound of their shared breathing as it filled the otherwise silent room and realized how good Yylfordt's skin felt beneath his lips. There was something distinctly different in him at this moment. He could blame it on his arousal or his dominance or his tiredness or the fact that he had been through Hell over the past few days, but Grimmjow noticed as his mouth dithered over Yylfordt's neck, that it was the first time in quite a while that he felt as relaxed as he did.

He pushed himself up once again and backed up his hips, letting out a quiet growl when he was fully removed. Standing up from the bed, he broke their contact and walked to the door. Something in the pit of his stomach had him hesitant for a mere moment and he ignored it, reaching over to flick off the lights; this was not something that he normally ever did, and Yylfordt would know that. Grimmjow stopped beside the bed and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm fuckin' tired," he started, glancing up to look out the window. "But… You can stay."

.

The man still wasn't being an asshole. Yylfordt half-expected it now that the Sexta had gotten what he wanted. He expected to be cast aside like a used piece of shit like he normally was. When it didn't happen, _still_ didn't happen, he was pretty fucking confused. Yylfordt didn't know what to think. He had been riding on instinct and just trying to prove himself until now-which he had. He so had. He'd shown the motherfucker what he was made of. So why was the bastard treating him so nicely still?

After Grimmjow stood, Yylfordt thought that this would be it. Surely, he'd be cast out now. He wasn't looking forward to going back to his room since he still hadn't cleaned it up-hadn't even been back-since Grimmjow's assault. The man opened his mouth to say just that, Yylfordt thought, but then something entirely unexpected happened. Grimmjow told him he could stay.

Yylfordt's eyebrows shot up. He opened his mouth, closed it. Then, finally, when his brain stopped fucking spinning on him, he managed to get a few words out.

"Sure, just," he paused again, the feeling of semen beginning to leak down his thigh giving him a break. "Lemme use the bathroom. That alright?"

Yylfordt stood to prevent any of the mess from getting on the bed. He was not one to sleep in that shit.

.

Grimmjow was somewhat surprised that the other man agreed to stay. Although, he was still surprised about this entire evening. Without the pressure of his libido, he was able to recall more clearly what had so easily been replaced by his desires. He nodded to the other man and watched as he walked away.

This was fucked up. Grimmjow walked back to the pile of clothing that was his uniform and bent down to grab it, straightening and using it to wipe himself off. He would have loved a shower, but was becoming more aware with each of his movements just how tired he was. Grimmjow twisted the hand wrapped in fabric around himself, grunting at the friction against his still-sensitive skin; he gripped at a cleaner side of the material and ran it over his chest, around the back of his neck, down along his thighs, before finally letting the clothing drop once more. It wasn't the best, but it was the least he could do if someone would be sharing his bed. The thought returned and he shook his head as if to get rid of it.

Moving once more, he sat down on the mattress and rolled over onto his back. Draping a hand over his forehead, he scoffed at himself. This was definitely fucked up.

.

Yylfordt didn't want to take too much time. He just took care of the problem and washed himself off with a cloth. All the while, he reflected on what had happened. Yylfordt couldn't help his grin. He might not have known where things were heading, but he had fulfilled his vow. They were different than before, and it seemed it was for the better too.

He returned to find the lights off and Grimmjow already in bed. In the past he would've jumped on that kind of vulnerability and gone right for the jugular. Right now he didn't really feel like it. Fucking odd, that. Yylfordt blamed the fact that his circumstances had gotten a whole lot better. That was it. He just didn't want to fuck things up when he'd made so much progress on them.

Yylfordt slipped into bed beside Grimmjow and lay on his back. Hell if he knew what to say, so he didn't say a thing. Yylfordt thought about wrapping his arm around the man, but was sure _that_ would earn him a brush off. During sex it was one thing, but he was absolutely sure Grimmjow wouldn't tolerate it now. And he didn't want to go back to his sullied room. Yylfordt closed his eyes so it wouldn't be so damn awkward, and relaxed next to the man.

.

Grimmjow would have been more controlled, but the moment that the bed shifted and the other man was beside him, his greediness kicked in. He was hardly aware of it until his grip was strengthening and the skin of Yylfordt's back was pressing against his stomach. This was normal. He told himself that. Yylfordt had always belonged to him and this was no different. As if to remind himself, he slipped a hand down around the other man's waist and held tighter.

Grimmjow said nothing. Even if he was fully awake, he wouldn't have known how the fuck to explain, and just the same, he didn't have to prove himself to anyone. Still, lips pressed possessively against the nape of Yylfordt's neck, his teeth laying claim to this skin, and he felt a rumble in his chest which he refused to allow escape as a groan.

If he continued to think this way, he would never relax. He let out a sharp breath and released his hold, rolling over onto his back once more. Grimmjow shut his eyes, feeling his jaw as it clenched, and ventured to sleep.

.

Yylfordt had barely closed his eyes when he was suddenly pulled into an embrace. His eyes snapped open and widened, and then Grimmjow was gripping him tighter, his breath playing against Yylfordt's neck as the man squeezed his waist. He could feel the hot skin against his own. It would have aroused him if he hadn't already been satisfied. Yylfordt almost expected Grimmjow to want round three or something like that. His sudden release halted that pattern of thought. Yylfordt sat stunned for a few seconds. He had no idea what was going on. He'd never stuck around after sex and never been asked to either. This kind of shit...he had no idea what he was supposed to do. The aggression was the only thing that was familiar to him.

Since Grimmjow didn't apparently mind touching him, he decided to revert to his original plan as all others had failed. Yylfordt rolled over onto his other side so he was facing the man, their bodies touching. He then wrapped an arm around his torso and leaned his head against him. All this without a word because he still didn't have a clue what to fucking say about it and apparently neither did Grimmjow.

.

Grimmjow tensed for a brief moment when the other man's arm was around him, but quickly relaxed at the new touch. He focused on the ceiling. This was all fairly new to him and he felt like an idiot for not understanding how to properly deal with it. It was obvious that Yylfordt felt the same way, which, for whatever reason, took some of the pressure off of him.

The blond hair against him had him calming. Grimmjow let himself loosen up and settle into the mattress, finding that his breathing had slowed to match the other man's. His eyelids were heavy when they finally fell closed, and he cleared his head of this bullshit, simply savoring the feel of a warm body against him as he gave in to sleep.

.

The fact that Grimmjow was relaxing gave Yylfordt leave to do so as well. He sagged against the man and was soon deeply asleep as well.

When Yylfordt awoke, he found his head on Grimmjow's chest and his arm dangerously close to the man's Hollow hole. Meanwhile, Grimmjow's arm was on top of him, which prevented him from moving. Yylfordt stiffened at first, as he had no idea where he was. He wasn't sure what to do when it came to him. At least, not until he saw the boner Grimmjow was sporting. Yylfordt was half-way there himself, he assumed because it was the first time he had slept next to someone like this in his memory.

Yylfordt ran his hand over Grimmjow's abdomen as he headed for the man's cock.

.

Grimmjow stirred in his sleep. He could sense that there was something against him, but was too tired to open his eyes and look. Instead, he shifted, pressing tighter to the warmth beside him, not entirely aware of who or what it was, but taking advantage of its heat in the morning air.

He clung to the point between awake and asleep, letting the night's encounter flood his brain, a soft smile spreading over his lips at the recollection of Yylfordt on his knees, his own tongue against heated skin, his hands spreading over the man's lithe form; unconsciously, he breathed deeper. A moment later and there was movement along his body, not his own, and painted eyes peeled open, glaring under his eyelashes at whatever was disturbing him. It only took him a moment before he realized that it was Yylfordt.

Turning his head, he looked down at the man on his chest. Grimmjow moved his arm to thread his fingers through long blond hair, and as Yylfordt's hand slipped lower, he understood. Laughing softly, he spoke, his voice sluggish. "Fuckin' horny bastard…"

.

Laughter rumbled through Yylfordt's body from Grimmjow's chest. He smirked as the man threaded fingers through his hair and slipped his own much lower on Grimmjow's body. Yylfordt rubbed himself against the man's side as he found his cock.

"Look who's talking," he said, as he began to stroke it. Yylfordt turned his head enough to look up at Grimmjow, still smirking. Then he diverted his attention to placing wet kisses along his collarbone as he fisted him.

.

Grimmjow groaned at the fingers wrapped around him. It was one thing to wake up and take care of himself, but having someone else there to do it felt a thousand times better. Especially when he had literally woken up to the other man's movements. He sunk his head into the pillows and tightened his fingers in Yylfordt's hair, keeping those lips against his skin. Grimmjow didn't have the energy yet to hold the blond down and fuck him properly, and so he laid back, his muscles fighting to relax as his hips moved up into the pumping hand.

"Shut up," he said lazily. He closed his eyes and bit back another moan. "Just keep doin' that."

.

Yylfordt was already fully erect. It was a damn powerful position he was in. He continued to pleasure Grimmjow with both his mouth and hand as he ground himself against the man's side. Yylfordt sucked on a nipple, swirling his tongue around it. Then he moved downward to lick along the edge of Grimmjow's Hollow hole. Yylfordt spent some time playing with it before coming up.

"I got a better idea," he said, his voice a little breathy.

Yylfordt moved to straddle the man, mindful of the hand in his hair. He grabbed Grimmjow's cock and held it as he slowly sank down on top of it. Yylfordt moaned as it slipped inside, spreading him, filling him.

.

Grimmjow arched up into the mouth against his skin, curling his fingers against the other man's scalp. His eyes remained closed. And while he was still drowsy, his body was waking up quickly. When Yylfordt's words reached his ears, he grinned, expecting that it would soon be the man's tongue working him over the edge. He was surprised then to feel the warmth leave him; he opened his eyes and was grateful that he did, relishing in the sight of Yylfordt sliding steadily onto his cock. When he was enveloped, Grimmjow's breath hitched.

"Shit, Granz," he practically whispered. He let go of the hair in his grasp to give the blond the freedom to move the way that he wanted. Grimmjow's hands settled on Yylfordt's waist and he thumbed over sharp hipbones as his own lower body lifted eagerly. Blue eyes scanned the toned body before him, following the lines of definition up until he met Yylfordt's gaze. He licked his lips.

.

Yylfordt sat there simply savoring the feeling of Grimmjow's cock inside of him. He clenched around it and moaned as Grimmjow spoke again. Then he met the man's gaze and began to roll his hips. Yylfordt had never been allowed to take this position on top of the Sexta, and the feeling was heady. _He_ was in control here. _He_ was going to dictate the pace. Grimmjow could do nothing but respond to his movements instead of the other way around, as it always was when Grimmjow forced himself on Yylfordt. Not like he would have remained still and taken it if he'd been given any sort of choice. But things were different now. _He_ had changed them. He had that power and it was all rushing to his head. Yylfordt kept the other man's gaze as his breathing picked up and he began to ride him in earnest.

.

"Fuck." Grimmjow's voice was ragged as Yylfordt tensed around him. He bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, and let out a deep growl as the blond began to move his hips. What had gotten into the man since the night before, he had no idea, but he was willing to exploit it for as long as he could; as long as he could have more time like _this_.

Just when he felt that his breathing was calming, the Fracción started to ride him, and it felt as if all of the air in his lungs left him at once. His hands on Yylfordt's waist were useless, but he kept them there, moving with the body beneath his fingertips as the other man slid along his shaft. Grimmjow held onto Yylfordt's gaze as his own hips raised to meet each thrust.

.

Yylfordt devolved into his customary gasps and moans as he fucked himself on Grimmjow's cock. He continued to hold the man's gaze as he rocked and Grimmjow pounded. Yylfordt felt exalted on top of the other man. He licked his lips and then his mouth was open and he was panting once more. One hand dropped to play with a nipple. He shuddered at the additional sensation, the fingers of his other hand digging into Grimmjow's hand. Yet his motions were steady and sure as he rode the man for all he was worth.

.

Grimmjow shuddered at the noises coming from the other man. His breathing was picking up with each of Yylfordt's thrusts onto him, until he had to grind his teeth to keep from groaning. Looking up at the blond, his fingers held more tightly, his hips moved more quickly. Yylfordt teased his nipple and he grunted low, his back bowing from the bed for more. Grimmjow moved with the other man, meeting him and matching his rhythm; one of his arms let go and he draped it across his face, his jaw finally unhinging and allowing the heavy breaths to fall from his lips. His entire body tensed and he came with a growl tearing from his throat, holding on to Yylfordt until their movements stilled.

.

Yylfordt's sense of power only increased as he saw that reaction from Grimmjow. The feeling went to his head and he almost came. It was only by sheer force of will that he managed to hold off until after the other man found his climax. A few seconds more and Yylfordt was cursing and moaning as he sprayed both himself and Grimmjow with his come as his cock bounced with his continued rocking motions.

Yylfordt stilled, his breathing heavy. He looked down on Grimmjow, on the come sprayed across his stomach and in his Hollow hole, and at the arm draped over his face. It was pretty fucking sexy. He decided he liked Grimmjow like that, splattered with his come and hiding his face.

He remained joined with Grimmjow until the man began to soften and then pulled back and up. But this was only so he could better reach the man's stomach. Yylfordt leaned in, again repressing memories of where exactly he had learned this technique, and began to lick his come off Grimmjow's stomach. He still didn't have his breathing under control. Pants accompanied the swirling of his tongue as he traced the path of his pleasure. Yylfordt licked until there was nothing left, even tracing down into Grimmjow's Hollow hole to catch the last of it. He came up licking his lips and staring Grimmjow down.

.

Grimmjow remained still after the movements ceased, after Yylfordt's release was splattered over the both of them. He fought to calm his breathing, letting himself sink back into the mattress. Already, he was tired again, but from the moment that he had woken up, he had planned on spending the day in bed.

His body tensed and he shivered when Yylfordt pulled off of him. And then that mouth was against his skin, and Grimmjow moved his arm, watching the man's tongue slide over his muscles and down into his Hollow hole. The sensation alone would have been enough, but the sight had him clenching his fists. When Yylfordt raised his eyes, Grimmjow leered back. There was little that he could do to stop himself. He reached out, grabbing the side of his Fracción's face in his hand and pulling him down. Their lips met and he groaned into the touch. He had never kissed this man before; there was never any reason to. But he pushed against him now, and hard, his tongue forcing past lips to explore Yylfordt's mouth, his grip strengthening around the other man's neck at the taste. Grimmjow pushed Yylfordt up and over onto his back, before moving over him quickly, and lowering his head for more.

.

It was only the leer that kept Yylfordt from tensing as he was grabbed. Despite everything that had happened the previous night, he was still accustomed to a Grimmjow who was nothing but an ass, and who got off on humiliating him. But then those hot lips met his and the thought perished in his mind.

Grimmjow had never kissed him before. In fact, he couldn't recall kissing anyone.

For a moment, Yylfordt was too stunned to move. And then he was groaning himself as he gave as good as he got. Yylfordt's tongue shot out to probe Grimmjow's own as the man worked at him. He shuddered, his heart beating in his throat as his Espada tightened his grip and pushed him down. Immediately, his arms were around Grimmjow's back, sliding down his sides, across his cheek and Hollow mask, threading through his hair, _everywhere_. Yylfordt couldn't explain his reaction. All he knew was that it felt right.

.

Grimmjow hummed into the embrace when Yylfordt finally joined in. He slid his tongue along the other man's, taking in as much of him as he could, ignoring the pounding in his skull that came with wondering why it had taken him so long to do this. When Yylfordt wrapped around him, he pulled back, sucking the man's lower lip into his mouth and biting down on it with a smirk. Even his own actions were turning him on, the simple feel of that lip sliding between his teeth intensifying his renewing excitement.

His hands were sliding lower on Yylfordt's skin, his hips already beginning to rock again, when he was struck with a familiar pain in his back. As many times as it had happened before, it always burned like it was the first time; the fact that it always came suddenly didn't help either. He backed away from the blond, his muscles tensing, and stood from the bed.

"Fuckin' shit." He scoffed. Moving from the bed only made him more aware of it, the sting, like something scraping over and over again along a deep wound. Grimmjow shook as he straightened his back, reaching around to feel that his number was hot to the touch.

He grabbed his uniform from the floor, leaving the jacket that he had used to clean himself off the night before. Turning to Yylfordt, he squared his shoulders. "I gotta go," he said, gritting his teeth through the agony. It seemed to take all of his energy to get out his next words. "But when I get back, I'm gonna fuck you until you can't move."

He realized almost immediately that he could have at least _tried_ to say something less crude, but he was already out the door and down the hallway. And if he wanted the pain in his back to stop, he wasn't going to turn back.


	17. Part II: Chapter 10

.

**The Coronation of Self: Part II**

**Chapter Ten**

**By: Ryoko & SZP**

Nnoitra pushed himself forward, grinning at the man he was fucking. He had shit to do today, but this was a stop that he was not sorry about making. As his hips moved more quickly, he dipped his head to lick along the other man's neck, biting down against Szayel's throat, and then against Szayel's jaw, and then against Szayel's lip. He wasted no time, slipping his tongue beyond the scientist's teeth to probe that familiar mouth as if it were brand new to him. And just as he was becoming reacquainted with the other man's tongue, he was retreating, pushing against shoulders until Szayel's back was flat on the cold table.

Nnoitra took advantage of the position, trailing his mouth over the expanse of Szayel's chest, savoring the combined taste of blood and sweat. He licked against skin, biting down as he went; he was frustrated that Szayel had gotten rid of his Hollow hole and had been taking it out on the flesh where it used to be. Nnoitra's hands moved lower, finally gripping the back of the other man's thighs and pulling him closer to meet his thrusts. He could hear and feel the table shift as he drove forward, but focused instead on the skin that was breaking beneath his nails.

He was speeding up, his tongue running over Szayel's nipple, when a sharp pain began to throb on his mark of rank. He snarled at the inconvenience, continuing with his ministrations even as the muscle began to tingle. As long as it didn't swell to the point where he couldn't breath, he was able to put up with it. At least until he and the Octava were finished. His breath felt distinctly hotter when he moved his lips over the other man's skin, the pulsing in his mouth quickly feeling like more of a scorching. He licked back up Szayel's chest, looking him in the eye, certain that his expression would show his aggravation and that his persistent thrusts would be evidence of his devotion to release. His thumb slipped around to the man's inner thigh, rubbing over the tattooed 8 and sensing the similar thrumming there.

"Shitty timin', huh?" he asked, his lower body rocking with more speed as his tongue burned with the threat of numbing. "Fuck."

.

Szayel shuddered as Nnoitra continued to drive into him. As had become customary, he and Nnoitra were both covered in wounds. Blood flowed over his skin as his chest heaved, moans falling freely from his lips. He was close when his thigh exploded into pain so intense it almost overrode the pleasure of Nnoitra's ministrations. Szayel groaned, his back rising from the table before quickly falling back. His breath came in heavier as he met Nnoitra's gaze. He was relieved that the man kept moving despite the summons.

He had already been close, but now all it took was Nnoitra pressing into the agony of his mark for him to come. He did, spraying himself and Nnoitra as he clenched around the man.

"Mmm...surprising that you can still speak," Szayel said, once he had come down enough to make a proper reply. His chest heaved as he wiped a hand across his brow to relieve himself of some of the sweat that had formed and tried to think what this meeting could be about.

.

Nnoitra grinned in satisfaction at the other man's release. And then Szayel contracted around him and he was quickly brought over as well; his hips drove him in deeper and he held himself there as he came, his back arching and his grip on the other man's thighs tensing.

His breath was hot and heavy. The high had made him forget the pain, but the instant that he came down, it overwhelmed him. Nnoitra pulled out and stepped away from the table, not able to enjoy the sensation of withdrawing from the other man due to the stinging in his tongue. He bit down on it, as if to relieve some of the pressure, though it did nothing to help. Turning an eye to Szayel, he narrowed his eye. "Make yerself useful and fix it, scientist," he uttered, just before he started to feel that his mouth was too small for his tongue. He had more to say, but the words would mean nothing if he sounded like an idiot when he spoke. Instead, he swallowed and fought the urge to choke as the burning intensified.

.

Szayel didn't really pay attention to Nnoitra's release this time. He had far too much on his mind. First and foremost, he was glad that by moving his Hollow hole to his glans penis, he hadn't lost the ability to come, nor altered the process in any way. Had any of this been the case or had Nnoitra noticed and taken advantage of the new location of his Hollow hole, Szayel would have performed an additional and immediate alteration. His next choice would be one of his toes, as his fingers were far too valuable to him and it would make certain tasks impossible were he to relocate it there. Szayel was also considering an earlobe.

The fact that there was another meeting so soon was somewhat worrisome given the nature of his manipulations over the past few days. Although he was assured that no one had mentioned anything to Aizen, there was little doubt the man knew _something_ about it. He always did.

"Surely, you aren't implying that I have any power over Aizen-sama or his techniques," Szayel said, as he sat up and brushed a hand through his hair to smooth it.

He stood and made his way across the room to his console where he inputted a command into the prompter. A hissing noise filled the room, and then a panel to the left of the console open to reveal two syringes filled with pale blue liquid. Szayel took them both and returned to Nnoitra's side. His sigh, when it came was melodramatic. He placed one syringe on the sullied table and motioned for Nnoitra's head. Szayel opened his mouth to suggest that the other man do the same. As soon as was permissible and after clearing the syringe of any air bubbles, he injected its contents into Nnoitra's tongue right by the mark of his rank.

"Nothing of which I am capable could _ever_ override his authority. It would be wise of you to refrain from suggesting it again. We wouldn't want to give anyone the wrong idea, hmm?" he said, as he sat on the table with the one leg spread out and administered his own injection. Szayel smirked, his head falling back as his undue pain-really but Aizen did know of his proclivities to make it this intense-was eased.

.

Nnoitra was irritated by the words. He always was. Szayel had a knack for setting Nnoitra on edge, every arrogant assumption that he spewed making the taller man want to rip that fucking satisfied smile off of his face. He did what he could to ignore it, not yet ready to speak because of the discomfort. When Szayel opened his mouth, Nnoitra mimicked him, complying only so that he would be able to breathe properly again; the needle hardly bothered him compared to the other pain that he was feeling, and when it withdrew, he ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth as the feeling began to return and the burning was alleviated.

Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he raised his eye to glare at the Octava. "Fuckin' kiss-ass."

Nnoitra pulled his hakama up and around his waist before reaching for his jacket. The collar that the other man had made for him was still tucked into the fabric. Grimmjow would have been his next stop after the lab, but Nnoitra now expected that he would have to wait until after the meeting if he didn't want to get his ass reamed by Aizen about it. As he pulled the material closed around himself, he squared his shoulders.

Szayel was still sitting on the table. The Quinta eyed him for a moment, distracted by the drop of blood that had begun to creep down the side of the other man's neck; he took a few steps, lifting Szayel's head and lowering his own to lick at it. When he pulled back, his tongue slipped back between his lips and he cocked an eyebrow.

"Ya comin'?"

.

Szayel didn't open his mouth, only smiled as he watched the other man dress. He didn't voice any number of things he could have said about their leader, how Aizen couldn't be trusted, how they would do well never to reveal their full set of abilities to him, how they should curry his favor anyway and keep him close. No, such things weren't safe enough to be said aloud, not even in the depths of the realm that he knew and controlled like his own body. If Nnoitra was wise, he would understand these things on his own. It had been a risk even exposing this much to him. Szayel blamed it on a whim. Nothing more, nothing less.

He tilted his head in an affable manner, offering Nnoitra easier access to his throat. A hand twined into black locks, which he only released when the man leaned back.

"In a moment," he said, and slid off the table. Szayel located his personal salve and applied it to all his wounds in an expedient manner. He was already walking toward the control panel even before they began to heal. A few commands later and a whirring sound took precedence over the ambient noise in the laboratory. Several panels slid open to reveal his emergency shower system. Szayel stepped inside. Within three minutes he had been sprayed with water, washed, and rinsed clean.

Szayel grabbed a towel from a Fraccion that had come to give it to him and hurriedly dried himself off before redressing in the fresh outfit it had also brought. His hair was still damp, but it would have to do for now. Aizen was a strict leader.

.

Nnoitra watched as the other man walked away, contemplating leaving without him. By the time that he was finished adjusting his robes and turning for the door, the water had stopped in the other room. He eyed the other man as he dressed, and when the Octava was finally finished, Nnoitra was standing, arms crossed over his chest, his teeth grinding.

"_Pretty_," he said, his tone obviously mocking. He reached out to run a hand through the damp pink locks before heading once again to the door, assuming that Szayel was behind him.

As he moved through the corridors, he could already feel the pain in his tongue begin to lessen, though it wasn't because of what Szayel had injected him with. This feeling was familiar enough. By the time that he stopped outside of the meeting room, it had reduced to a dull throb, though he knew that if he distanced himself again, the ache would quickly return. It was something that he had tested out on more than one occasion.

He glanced around at the few others who were already waiting, though he saw no sight of the Sexta. Not surprising. Fingers tightened on the collar in his jacket and he clenched his jaw.

.

Szayel did not bother with Nnoitra's petty insults, nor was he offended by the man's silence as they walked. Such an unfortunate place for the mark. Nnoitra's bravado did indeed come with a price. But that was rather a relief as it gave him time to compose himself and to consider Aizen's reiatsu as the man drew closer to their mutual destination. The pain in his thigh was minor enough to be nothing short of enjoyable. It was not a distraction.

When they arrived at the meeting room, Szayel gave one last glance at Nnoitra and made to go inside.

.

Grimmjow stalked through the hallways, frustrated that he had been interrupted and even more irritated by the ache along his back. It faded somewhat with each of his steps, but that didn't help with his anger. He wasn't surprised when he turned the corner to see that the rest of the Espada had already gathered. And he suddenly became more aware of how miserable he must have looked in his uniform from the day before, topless from the waist up. Running a hand over his chest, he approached, purposely avoiding any unnecessary contact with the other Arrancar.

He waited by himself in the corner, keeping himself focused on the way that Yylfordt had woken him up and letting everything else blur behind it. His thoughts, however, were interrupted by a familiar reiatsu and he couldn't help but look up as the Quinta strode towards him.

"Fuck off," he said, baring his teeth.

.

As soon as the other man appeared in the hallway, Nnoitra's customary grin returned. He said nothing as he pushed through the other Espada, meeting Grimmjow on the other side.

"Don't be so harsh," he said, his smile widening. "I have somethin' for ya."

He watched the other man's face, noticing when he didn't even flinch. It pissed him off, but he hardly showed it in his own expression. Nnoitra held his stare for a moment, waiting until Grimmjow opened his mouth to speak again before raising an arm and backhanding the Sexta hard across the cheek. The sound rang loudly in the open space; he hardly savored it before he was slapping the collar around Grimmjow's neck, listening with a satisfied hum as it locked into place.

The instructions that Szayel had sent along with the collar were obnoxious to him. Nnoitra hardly scanned the page before tossing it aside to Tesla and having the blond deal with it. When he was told of the capabilities, he chuckled to himself. The scientist was gifted, and Nnoitra would certainly owe him after this. But the look on Grimmjow's face as it clicked was more than worth it.

Nnoitra had chosen to allot the Sexta the privilege of hearing and smell, if only to be aware of himself as he wasted away. His voice was definitely silenced, as well as his reiatsu and his ability to ejaculate, though Nnoitra left him with the potential for an erection. Everything else was on, and he was sure that Grimmjow would not last long due to that fact. He slipped a finger under the collar and laughed. "Just like the mutt y'are."

.

Nnoitra was insufferable. The sound of his voice made every hair on Grimmjow's body stand on edge. Before he could retaliate, he was slapped violently, his head jerking to the side from the impact; the moment that he turned back, he could feel the thin metal against his neck. It had him seething.

He opened his mouth, a rough growl tearing from his throat, and was surprised when it did not resound in the air around him. Mouthing a few curses at the other man, he reached up, his hand tugging harshly on the choker and finding that he hardly possessed the strength to do so. Grimmjow's breath was already coming quickly, the sensation of his reiatsu fading almost bringing him to his knees. Whatever this was, it was much more severe than the first one.

.

Szayel watched the two Espada interact from a distance. His gaze traveled up and down Grimmjow's body as he took in the man's shabby appearance and made a few assumptions. However, he didn't give voice to these, nor did he show much of a reaction beyond a raised brow as Nnoitra slapped the collar on him. He was slightly angry that the Quinta had chosen to do this _right before the meeting_. But his reckless behavior was to be expected. Nonetheless, Szayel's part in it was finished and he would have nothing further to do with it until Grimmjow was on his knees before him as Szayel suspected he would be soon enough.

So it was that he excused himself into the meeting room to find his seat along with a few of the others, the rest having been diverted by the display of aggression.

.

Grimmjow watched as the Quinta walked away, heading into the meeting room with the rest of their allies. The loss of his strength and his reiatsu so suddenly was making even the most simple movements difficult. He supposed that he should at least be grateful to the Octava for sedating him before this happened the first time.

When he finally straightened up, he followed the other Espada into the room, taking his usual seat across from Ulquiorra. Grimmjow kept his eyes on the table as he ventured to calm his breathing, though he could hear himself panting as it reverberated off of the walls. Even though he was lacking his own spirit, he could still sense the other energy in the room; Nnoitra's seemed to be pulsing vigorously and he wondered if the bastard was doing it on purpose. Crossing his arms over his chest, he waited silently despite the fact that he had quite a lot to say.

.

Szayel sat with his elbows on the table and his fingers laced under his chin. In reality, he was tense enough that his toes curled. It was a struggle to keep his reiatsu at a normal level. His gaze was as casual as his smirk, but he was eying his fellow Espada to determine their mood and their intentions. He didn't waste his time on Yammy and knew Aaroniero wasn't a worry. The others were another matter. Szayel's shoulders knotted, but before he could move to address the problem, a silky gloved hand was massaging him. Szayel turned to find Aaroniero looking in his direction.

.

Aaroniero saw it all, saw the way they handled the Sexta. Saw Szayel's wet hair. _The bite marks_, his mind supplied. Yes, he saw them. He saw them. And with it, saw his chance. He didn't like Szayel Aporro very much, not that he really liked anyone. _Not the point_. What Aaroniero did like was fucking him, and fuck they had. So many good times. But Szayel hadn't been calling on him lately and he didn't like that. Not one bit. So he decided to make a move. _Stir things up_. Yes, yes. Stir he would.

Aaroniero continued to work his fingers as he leaned in to whisper, only one of him speaking so that his voices wouldn't carry far. _Want to speak too._ He told himself to shut up.

"You seem tense," he said, as he worked his hand lower on Szayel's back. Others might not notice, but they weren't him. No, they weren't him at all.

.

Szayel raised an eyebrow at the words, and then smiled. Aaroniero was always _very_ helpful. Szayel did so enjoy their time together. Or he had until he'd found a new plaything. Pity Aaroniero hadn't realized it yet. This was the perfect opportunity for what was becoming his new favorite pastime though. With that thought in mind, Szayel turned indulgent eyes on the man and whispered back.

"A very high stakes experiment," he said, his tone low enough that they would not be overheard. Szayel leaned into the touch and allowed himself to relax some. If nothing else, he could count on those talented hands to massage the superficial tension away.

.

Nnoitra's grin had not left his face since the moment that he saw the Sexta in the hallway. And now, sitting in the uncomfortable silence, watching as the man ventured to understand and control what he could not, the smile on his face only widened. His one eye focused on Grimmjow's fists as they tightened, and he found that his own body was relaxing more against the back of the chair. Allowing his reiatsu to pulse heavily, Nnoitra's laughed to himself, and turned back to the man across from him. He cocked an eyebrow.

He glared as Aaroniero's hand worked over the Octava's shoulder, but grit his teeth. His body was already thrumming with energy because of his morning with Szayel and his encounter with Grimmjow; now, it seemed to be turning against him, rapidly shifting to an aggression that he should not have possessed when Aizen was on his way. Nnoitra could not make out what the man was saying. Even so, his body tensed as he looked on. The moment that Szayel turned to return his quiet reply, Nnoitra's reiatsu flared, his only awareness of it being the Sexta's pounding fist against the table.

.

Aaroniero would have smiled at the man's response if he had had the proper lips to do so. But no that would be later. _Later_. When they were alone. He wanted to chuckle, to laugh so loud, but he held it in. He was good at that. _Good actor, good._ He'd had lots of practice. Practice reading people too. So many memories.

"Will you tell me about it later?" he said, although that wasn't what he was _really_ asking. Aaroniero's hand dropped lower to right above where he knew Szayel's Hollow hole to be. He pressed at the man's back, his fingers digging in just the slightest bit.

.

Szayel smiled again as he leaned into the caress. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could there was the banging of a door. Aaroniero and he both straightened up as the Espada came to attention, acknowledging the presence of their leader.

Aizen's voice, when it came, was as smooth and calm as his reiatsu.

"My dear Espada. Welcome back." He took his seat at the head of the table, with Tousen and Gin flanking him. The man's serene gaze roamed over those present. Szayel's heart sank to his stomach as it settled on him, though he did not give the faintest indication of his feelings-not even in his reiatsu. He was far too talented for that.

"A certain matter has come to my attention. I am here to address it," he continued. Szayel might have trembled had he been any less perfect, for Aizen's gaze seemed to be reserved for him alone even though he also looked to Nnoitra and Grimmjow.

A Numeros rounded the table, setting out cups and pouring tea for everyone as was customary. Aizen was silent during this, apparently letting the weight of his words settle over the room.

.

Nnoitra was about ready to stand up from the table and break Aaroniero's capsule open when he saw Szayel lean against the other man's touch. And the opening doors that stopped him were almost a relief. Sitting back in his chair, he joined the other Espada in turning, his one eye flickering with loathing as Aizen made his way towards the table.

He ignored the tea, focusing instead on their leader's words and the fact that he could feel those eyes watching him from the end of the table. Nnoitra reigned in some of his reiatsu and waited, his gaze flashing over to the Octava as the silence filled the room.

.

The only warning that he had was the sound of the doors opening, and then it felt as if his body would shatter under the weight of Aizen's reiatsu. Grimmjow fought the urge to shudder, though he could feel that his breathing had picked up again. Even on a normal day, the man's energy was enough to bring him down; for whatever reason, he hadn't thought of it until it was too late, how much more powerful it seemed now that he did not possess his own reiatsu as a defense.

When Aizen sat down, Grimmjow suppressed another shiver. He was so close, only a few feet away, that the Sexta kept his head down. His muscles contracted and he felt a bead of sweat drip down the side of his cheek, stopping at his Hollow mask. The words and the actions of the other Arrancar meant little to him. He simply sat and ventured to think about anything else that would keep his weakness at bay. But Aizen's eyes on him were almost as strong as his reiatsu, and Grimmjow finally turned, meeting the other man's stare with sincere apprehension.

.

The silence lingered as cups clinked against saucers and those Espada who had the taste for it took their tea. When Aizen finally spoke again, there was no change in the tone of his voice. Neither was his expression anything less than benevolent, as it usually was.

"Octava," he said, at last. Then he paused to set his cup down. "Did you complete the assigned task?"

Szayel's blood ran cold as his rank passed those lips, yet he did not falter.

"Of course, Aizen-sama. I saw to it myself," he replied, without hesitation. Aizen's ensuing smile did not reassure him, rather the opposite. If he hadn't been tense before, he would have been now.

"That is good."

A second later and the Cuarta stood from his chair. Szayel's gaze slid to him as he walked around the table and toward him, and then back to Aizen. Szayel would have thought this kind of insubordinate behavior very strange of the man had it not been obvious that it was under Aizen's orders.

The Cuarta came to a stop a little to the left of Szayel's seat.

"Octava Espada, you will stand and strip," Ulquiorra said.

Szayel's eyebrows almost raised at that. He glanced behind at the pale and stoic man, and then back to Aizen, who was still smiling. Szayel quickly stood and entered into a deep bow to the man.

"If that is your wish, Aizen-sama," he said, his tone akin to an adoring supplicant. Szayel straightened and found the hidden zipper in his outfit and began to pull it down. He knew his fears weren't unfounded, but he _really_ couldn't believe this was happening to him.

.

Grimmjow was barely listening, concentrating instead on the tea in his glass. He wasn't drinking it, simply staring; it was easier than focusing his attention on what was going on, and it seemed to be the one thing in the room that wasn't causing him pain at the moment. He only raised his eyes when he saw Ulquiorra stand up across from him, following the man's movements until he was glancing beside him, watching as the Cuarta stopped. Grimmjow was still somewhat unconscious of the situation, but when the Fourth Espada spoke, his eyes widened. He would have said something, but as it was, his vocal cords were useless, and he didn't have the energy to tolerate any more of Aizen's reiatsu.

.

Nnoitra was in the middle of picking his teeth when Aizen spoke again. And he only listened because he heard Szayel mentioned. His eye centered on the scientist, even when their leader was talking. Nothing that the man said was ever of any real importance to him anyway. The things that were, he could figure out on his own; everything else was just bullshit. Nnoitra scowled as Aizen's pet, Ulquiorra, rose from the table. He scoffed under his breath. The man moving to where Szayel sat was trivial and obviously a collection of whatever the Octava had made at the ex-Captain's request. He was leaning back in his chair when Ulquiorra spoke.

Nnoitra's hands hit the table harshly as he pulled himself back upright. He knew that his reiatsu was fuming, but did nothing to conceal it. It was one thing for Aizen to talk down at them, words were useless as shit anyway. But whatever he had in mind now, the Quinta did not approve of. His eye followed Szayel as he stood and began to unzip himself. Nnoitra ground his teeth to keep himself from speaking, knowing from experience and from watching the Sexta's explosive tendencies that it was very much against the rules. _Fuck the rules._ His fists clenched and he tore his gaze from Szayel to focus his glare on Aizen.

"What the fuck's this about?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he was certain that he was about to have his ass handed to him. But he held firmly to his defiance, merely squaring his shoulders and raising an eyebrow.

.

While it was somewhat-no, _very_ gratifying that the source of his current predicament had risen to defend him, Szayel paid the man no attention. This was a dangerous situation and all the Quinta was doing was pouring oil on the fire. Aizen had issued an order to the Cuarta or he wouldn't have been acting like this and Aizen wouldn't be idly standing by while he did it.

Szayel had to comply. Anything else would be insubordination bordering on treason. He continued revealing perfection inch by inch even as the Cuarta spoke again.

"Quinta. You are to remain silent unless you wish to take the Octava's place," he said, his tone the usual deadpan despite what he was insinuating.

Szayel kept Aizen's gaze as he slipped out of the top of his uniform, revealing the entirety of his flawless torso to everyone. He did not care one bit about the opinions of others, even Aizen's own. That did not mean he would reveal his true feelings though he was aware Aizen knew, and perhaps even approved of them in part. Given that, it was safe to say that whatever punishment their leader had planned for him, it wouldn't be this.

Szayel pulled off his gloves with his teeth and added them to the pile. Then he removed his hakama, standing before all naked and proud and ready for the adoration he deserved. Above all else, Szayel was thankful that he'd had the foresight to shower. The presentation would have been ruined otherwise.

.

The other man's silence only amplified his own anger. His fellow Espada should have been on his side, but as it was, they were doing shit about it. Nnoitra's ire shifted between the fact that Aizen was doing this and the fact that Aizen had called them there to watch as he did; it was a complete waste of time to be in this room while their leader went through with his plans, and being threatened into compliance set his teeth on edge.

Nnoitra's eye lingered on Ulquiorra and the loathing in his expression was severe. He held his glare for a moment, just until Szayel began to bare himself, before shifting his focus to Aizen once more. When he looked back, the Octava was completely naked.

The words were in his throat, on his tongue, a second away from being spoken, but something stopped him. The sight of Szayel, exposed and ungrudging, had his stomach tightening, his jaw clenching, and he let out some of his reiatsu to relieve himself of the pressure.

.

Szayel felt the weight of many eyes on him. He relished the attention. Only natural that perfection should be appreciated. But Szayel was very much aware that this could not be the punishment as Aizen knew his proclivities all too well. He might have voiced one hypothesis or another, but held his tongue to keep with the part he was playing. Insubordination was not becoming and he didn't intend to devolve into it, a least not publicly.

When the command came for him to climb onto the table and go down on his hands and knees, Szayel complied without a word. He didn't have to be told to face Aizen, either. No, the only thing that surprised him was Ulquiorra taking up the position behind him. It was hard to believe that the Cuarta even knew what to do in this situation.

Szayel spread his legs and attempted to relax. He did not relish the idea of being taken against his will, but taken he would be. And just because of that, he would enjoy it to spite Ulquiorra and Aizen. This would fit the image that had, no doubt, circulated about himself and caused Aizen to summon them.

He felt Nnoitra's reiatsu flaring and could have cursed him for that stupid temper he shared with the Sexta. If not for their combined idiocy, he wouldn't have been forced into this position. It was almost a relief when Ulquiorra pushed his head down to the table as he sank inside. Soon, this would all be over.

.

Nnoitra's jaw tightened at the command, at the way that Szayel so effortlessly obeyed. It made his blood boil, watching the Octava on his knees like that, and when Ulquiorra joined him on the table, Nnoitra thought his teeth would shatter under the pressure of his straining. He had to bite his tongue to keep from yelling once again when the Cuarta slid into Szayel, every muscle in his body contracting until the man was fully sheathed.

He couldn't feel anyone else's reiatsu or sense that any of the other Espada were as frustrated as he was. The only movements, aside from what was happening directly in front of him, were the Sexta's fists clenching and that tended to happen only when Nnoitra's reiatsu pulsed. But the indifference was going to make him crazy. Nnoitra almost stood from the table but, meeting Aizen's eyes again had him sitting back.

.

Ulquiorra was as efficient as ever. He began pounding into Szayel at a rough pace almost immediately, drawing a few gasps and even a moan from his throat when the man plunged deeper. It was all so reminiscent of the brutal sex he had with the Quinta that Szayel couldn't have helped becoming aroused even if he wanted to.

Aizen watched the whole thing with a half-smile on his lips, that warm gaze wandering over Szayel's prone body from time to time and assessing each of his Espada at others. He sipped his tea as the prelude to punishment continued, with some of his most loyal mimicking his taste. Gin made a comment from time to time, but he didn't respond.

Szayel kept his gaze as often as he could, his half-lidded eyes reflecting back what he hoped Aizen wanted to see: obedience and adoration even in the face of dire circumstance. Szayel subscribed to neither, but that wasn't the point. To survive in this place, he did whatever he had to do.

The Cuarta did not last very long, just enough to get Szayel erect and then he was done and pulling out. The sound of his rustling clothes was the only thing to break the silence besides Szayel's heavier breathing. The Cuarta wasn't even winded.

Szayel did not know the reason behind the next command, but he obeyed nonetheless, turning around so that he faced away from Aizen. He did not have long to ponder. Understanding hit him with the full force of Aizen's kidou, a way of binding. In this case, it was his sphincter that was being held shut _with Ulquiorra's semen still inside_. Szayel pitched forward with the impact, his eyes going wide. His hands clenched and he almost lost himself, almost railed against it. Recovery came at the last second, and he slowly and shakily came to kneel instead of crawl on the table.

And still, Aizen hadn't said a word. How Szayel hated the man. He fought not to show it.

.

One eye held its predatory stare on the two men on the table. Even if he had been able to break his focus away, he still knew that it was happening, he could still feel the table shift just slightly with the movements, and he could still hear the sounds that fell from Szayel's lips. He might have thought that it was hot, if he didn't find it completely disgusting for happening at all. Nnoitra was in the middle of once again reigning in his reiatsu, when he noticed that Szayel was actually getting off on this; the thought shouldn't have caught him so off guard, considering the kind of sex that they tended to have. What did surprise him, however, was what he realized upon seeing the Octava's arousal.

He almost cursed out loud, but ground his teeth instead. The bastard hadn't gotten rid of his Hollow hole after all. Nnoitra was somewhat annoyed that he hadn't been aware of it earlier, but at this angle, it was obvious.

Before he could think anything else, Ulquiorra was pulling out. Nnoitra hadn't even seen him shudder. Szayel was turning and Nnoitra's eye was on him and when the binding happened, his anger returned with his fuming reiatsu. He slammed his hands onto the table and turned to look down at the leader. "Why the fuck're we still here?"

.

Aizen smiled at the Quinta as his Cuarta spoke again.

"Octava, you may step down," he said, as he too stepped down from the table.

Szayel shuddered at the command. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore the discomfort presented by the kidou. The knowledge that he was to be forced to live with a sullied orifice until further notice had him shaking as he resumed his seat. He would not stand for this. No, and no one, not even Aizen, could make him. Just as soon as he left, he was going to find a way around it.

"Quinta, your turn," Aizen finally said.

Szayel's smoldering gaze slid to Nnoitra. His lips were in a thin line that he usually found unbecoming on himself, but for now was useful in that it acted as a visceral outlet for some of his ire.

.

Nnoitra watched as Szayel struggled back into his seat. It was always somewhat surprising to see the Octava when he was vulnerable, and he had been lucky enough to witness it on more than one occasion. Still, the sight of Szayel shaking was enough to intensify his fury. Even when the other man's eyes met his own and he was aware of their mutual distaste for the situation, as well as Szayel's obvious irritation for him alone, Nnoitra held tightly to his raging energy. And then Aizen was speaking and he was certain that nothing would keep him from breaking the man's skull.

Nnoitra stood, though in defiance, his fists pounding violently against the table. He glared at Aizen, raising a hand to point as he spoke.

"I didn't fuckin' come here to get raped by yer faggot bitch over there!" He motioned to Ulquiorra, though his eye remained glued to Aizen. "_My turn_, huh?" He was only aware of his seething reiatsu and the fact that he had let loose entirely because of the way that Grimmjow seemed to curl in on himself.

Nnoitra held out his arms. "Come and get me, ya stupid cunt."

.

Aizen surveyed the scene with no real change in expression. Finally, though, his lips quirked upward. He took a sip of tea, ignoring the Quinta's final outburst until he had replaced the cup on its saucer.

"I prefer my tea hot, but it must sometimes, necessarily, grow cold," he said, his words in complete and total contrast to the immense wave of reiatsu he sent washing over the man. It was far more than necessary to bring him to his knees and to subdue him. Aizen closed his eyes in a long, slow blink as he assessed his insubordinate tool with his reiatsu.

"Stand."

The command was simple, but obeying it would not be an easy feat.

.

He had felt the strength of Aizen's reiatsu before, but never this intensely and never when it was focused solely on him. The moment that Nnoitra's knee touched the floor, he let out a gasp, realizing only now that he had been holding his breath. Any attempts at overthrowing it were futile, though he held firmly onto his own energy, its power suddenly seeming minuscule in comparison. His second knee met the floor and soon he was hunched over onto his hands, heaving through gritted teeth as he fought to retain any shred of dignity he had left.

The pressure was so severe that everything else seemed to blur aside from the man and his single word. It would have been effortless to remain on the floor, to disregard Aizen's order as he had the last. But his pride was now at stake and any sign of weakness would certainly make things harder on him. He was still strong enough. He could still stand on his own two feet. Nnoitra ventured to move, but his entire body was shaking, his muscles were failing him, and he found that even his head was lowering under the strain. He shut his eye tightly and cursed himself for being so fucking pathetic.

.

Aizen watched as the Quinta crumpled like the leaf he was under the wash of his reiatsu. He waited a few more moments just to let the message sink in, and then toned it back a fraction. It would be just enough to allow his immediate superior to function well.

"It appears he will need assistance. Cuarta, if you would," he said. His most loyal Espada rounded the table without a word. He stepped into the honey and glass of Aizen's reiatsu and bent to pick the man up by his throat. Ulquiorra held him up and facing Aizen as he waited. He stared down his subordinate for a moment before nodding. The movement was so slight that his hair did not even shift.

The Cuarta tore the fabric of the Quinta's hakama until the man was exposed. Aizen cast a second but very similar binding kidou on his flaccid cock. The Cuarta let him drop and Aizen lessened the flow of reiatsu to a more comfortable level. It was still a vast and formidable presence, but not paralyzing as it had been.

.

Szayel's anger only increased with the outburst. Nnoitra had proven himself to be an idiot once again. It was only how pathetic he looked there on the ground that kept Szayel's tongue. He shuddered with suppressed rage, all directed at Nnoitra for the moment. He couldn't think about Aizen or Ulquiorra. It would show. _He_ would know, and he was not in a generous mood, it seemed.

It was only when the Cuarta held Nnoitra up by the neck and Aizen cast his kidou on him that some of his ire abated. Szayel placed his elbows on the table and laced his fingers once more. He rested his head upon them and lowered his gaze. He had seen enough.

.

Nnoitra could feel the difference in pressure only slightly. To him, it still seemed like the same intense weight. The words were hardly registering to him over the throbbing in his skull. It wasn't until Ulquiorra was beside him that he became aware of anything else in the room. Nnoitra wanted to say something; he wanted to break the fucker's hand before it wrapped around his throat. But his voice was cut off as he was raised from the floor, his legs still touching the ground, though they gave him no leverage.

In an instant, his hakama was gone and a pain was shooting to his groin. Nnoitra was on his knees again before he could even understand what had happened. The ache had him doubled over and he reached instinctively to grab himself.

When Aizen's energy finally let up, he struggled to get up from the floor. It seemed to take all of his strength just to reach his chair where merely sitting down made him conscious of his sensitive cock. Nnoitra let his head fall forward onto the table and ran a hand through his hair, speaking low and only for himself.

"Fuck."

.

Aizen paid no more attention to the Quinta. Instead, his gaze fell on the Sexta. One did not show his or her face before a god while so greatly weakened. It was an insult of the highest magnitude.

"Sexta," he began, then paused to allow the silence to linger between them, leaving the rest unsaid. The entire room was as quiet as the dead who inhabited it.

Aizen unleashed a smidgen of his monstrous reiatsu at the man and let it weigh on him. He did not need to tell the Sexta not to appear before him like this again, or that he would have to deal with the consequences of his misbehavior himself. No, that much should have been obvious. Aizen would mete out further punishment only if it became necessary after this warning.

When next he spoke, it was to all his subordinates.

"Cooperation is as important as competition." Aizen's words were simple, but conveyed a special meaning for all those involved. He stood, smiling. "Enjoy your tea, my dear Espada."

When no one said anything, he turned with Kaname and Ichimaru and left the way they had come.

.

Szayel was out of his seat almost as soon as their leader left the room. He grabbed his clothing and was out the door before any of the rest. His fears had proven themselves tangible and he would now have to deal with the consequences. The results left him feeling sick to his stomach, but not enough for his now-damnable erection to so much as falter. His genius had betrayed him for once.

Szayel cursed to himself, his hands balling into fists as he all but ran down the hallway toward his area.

.

For a brief instant, Grimmjow actually expected to leave the meeting without being reprimanded. It was a stupid thought, one that hardly lingered in his brain before being cast out by the cruel hand of reality. Just his rank on Aizen's lips was enough to make him nervous. He had plenty to take responsibility for; he was somewhat relieved when Aizen didn't list off everything that he had done wrong.

The only reason that he even showed up for this meeting was because he had tested the limits of avoiding it one too many times and was not willing to tolerate that Hell again. Showing up was supposed to be a major part of the job. And when Szayel and Nnoitra were punished, he was certainly preparing for relief from his collar. Another stupid thought. Aizen didn't say anything else to him, but his immense reiatsu had Grimmjow feeling like he was about to break, even if it was only a fraction of the man's potential energy.

By the time Aizen departed, Grimmjow's breath had picked up again. He sank into his chair as everyone else began to leave, holding onto the anchor of its security for just a little bit longer.

In his current condition, the thought of returning to his room and the man waiting for him was discouraging. At least until he had his full strength and his full reiatsu back, he would have to wait it out.

.

Nnoitra only raised his head when he could feel that Aizen was out of the room. And it was a good thing that he did. Szayel was gone in a flash and Nnoitra practically knocked over his chair in order to get out of the room if he had any hopes of catching up.

His strength was still returning, but he fought through it, ignoring the dull throb in his head and the pain in his groin as he moved past the other Espada towards the blur of pink at the end of the corridor. Rat bastard was quick.

Grateful for his long legs, Nnoitra picked up his speed, following the path that the Octava was taking and finally finding him alone and with enough distance between them and the meeting room. He reached out and grabbed Szayel's arm, jerking him back as his boots skidded on the floor.

"Fuck," he started, his words rough with his heavy breathing. "Wait a fuckin' second."

.

Szayel felt the Quinta approaching, but did not slow his pace or stop. His anger burned hotter with each step. He hoped the man would get the message that he was not in the mood for talking. Having his arm grabbed so suddenly dashed the thought. He fought to control his shuddering breaths as the man swung him backwards.

"I need to get back to my laboratory," he said, punctuating each word. The very thought that there was a foreign substance inside of him which he might not have the power to remove made him want to scream. He was on the edge of hysteria and might tip over at any second. It was in his eyes, which were wide behind the rims of his Hollow mask.

"Let me go."

.

Nnoitra watched him for a moment, sensing that the other man was more damaged than he had let on. His grip tightened on Szayel's arm and pulled, narrowing the distance. Lowering his head, he fought to calm his breath enough to speak clearly. His mouth moved to an ear.

"No."

Simply being around this man seemed to make his energy multiply, and he used it to his advantage, tugging on Szayel and pushing him up against the wall. Nnoitra's mouth was against Szayel's skin before he even had a moment to think things through. It was his need for dominance, or at least that was what he would blame; though, thinking about Aaroniero's hands and Ulquiorra's cock made Nnoitra bite down, the familiar taste flooding his senses and making him wild. He let go of Szayel's arm to move his hands lower over the exposed body before him, his tongue and teeth leaving a possessive trail over the Octava's collarbone. Nnoitra savored the control, letting out a satisfied grunt into the touch, as his ministrations continued.

.

Szayel's hands tightened at the refusal, his nails digging into his palms until they bled. He shuddered as he was pushed into the wall, gritting his teeth. Szayel placed a hand on the man's chest. He intended to push him away, but was stopped by the mouth against his skin. Beyond the obvious reason, Szayel didn't particularly _care_ about the why at the moment. Later, he would ponder it at length. But right now, all he knew was that the man's touch distracted him. And he badly needed distracting.

Szayel's breathing picked up as the man continued, his flowing blood seeming to be a release of another kind. The palm on Nnoitra's chest curled, his nails beginning to break the skin there. He opened his mouth and then closed it just as quickly.

.

Nnoitra kept up with his movements as his hands slipped lower, only stopping to massage Szayel's thighs. He could feel the pain in his cock as his arousal intensified, and sank his teeth into Szayel's shoulder to distract himself from it.

The nails grazing over his skin urged him on. He raised his head slightly to lick along Szayel's jaw. Nnoitra spoke roughly as his grin returned. "I know about yer secret," he said, his fingers kneading deeper circles against skin. His tongue traced the shell of Szayel's ear and he bit down as his hand wrapped around the other man's cock. Nnoitra laughed quietly, pressing his mouth against the side of Szayel's neck, and twisted his wrist.

"Ya can't hide that shit from me."

.

Szayel really did cut into Nnoitra's flesh as the man kneaded his thigh, bit into his shoulder. His moan was not entirely voluntary, nor was he pleased with the way he leaned against the wall for support. So much had been done to him in such a short time. He was weakened from it and would take a little time to recover. Time that Nnoitra wasn't allowing him. Szayel wanted to object. He wanted to push the Quinta away before things got away from him, but his laboratory was cold and his Fraccions' hands dry. Nothing would satisfy this ache or distract him like the Quinta.

Szayel leaned his head back, exposing more of his neck to the other man as he spoke.

"I don't know about that." At the same time, he fisted a hand in Nnoitra's hair and shivered. A groan was torn from his throat as the man twisted his hand around his cock.

.

Nnoitra's grin widened as the other man gave in to his treatment. He chuckled, his breath hot against Szayel's ear, before moving his mouth to take advantage of the skin that was now available to him. Sliding down along the side of Szayel's neck, Nnoitra kissed and nipped against his throat.

"You ever take that stick outta yer ass an' just enjoy yerself?" he asked between licks, though he was already largely aware of the answer.

His fist pumped a couple of times, his other hand moving around to the small of Szayel's back and pulling him tighter. Backing off, Nnoitra looked him in the eye. "Cause ya should."

The words were mostly for the other man, though Nnoitra assumed that he could get some use out of Szayel's willingness as well. For now, he ignored his own desires because of the pain, and focused his attention on the muscles working beneath his fingers. Again, he was sliding his hand along the Octava's shaft, and he sucked on Szayel's earlobe, letting a harsh grunt escape from his throat. Nnoitra loosened his grip and slipped a finger into the man's Hollow hole, watching Szayel's expression as he thumbed over the head of his cock.

.

Szayel's hand tightened in Nnoitra's hair as the other man continued to taunt him. However, he was less than thrilled by the insinuation, especially given his current circumstances.

"What are you doing?" Szayel could understand the desire for power and confirmation of that power in Nnoitra. What didn't make as much sense was the fact he was continuing to pursue it even with what Aizen had done to him. With true release an impossibility, there should have been nothing in it for him. Nothing but Szayel's pleasure, which he was assured couldn't be enough motivation.

But then the man was sticking his finger in Szayel's Hollow hole and nothing else mattered. Szayel's moan echoed down the hallway. He slumped against the wall as his knees weakened. If Nnoitra hadn't been pressing against him, he would have slid to the floor. As his head flopped to the side, he noticed a nearby flicker of white, but he quickly closed his eyes to it and simply concentrated on trying to breathe. Szayel wrapped his arms around Nnoitra's neck in an effort to stay upright should the man let him go. He'd had enough of being on his knees for the time being.

Szayel panted and moaned in his ear as he tried to hold on to whatever modicum of control he still possessed. Further alterations were definitely going to be necessary.

.

The question made him laugh. "Don't ya know by now?" he asked, his tone mocking. "And here I thought you were _so smart_."

Nnoitra was satisfied with the reactions that his actions were bringing about. It seemed that the man's Hollow hole was as sensitive as ever. His finger slipped out and then back in, his eye focusing on the Octava's chest as it rose and fell. The arms around his neck and the breathy noises in his ear were enough of a confirmation that he was in control once again. It had his own cock throbbing and the thought of no relief was beyond frustrating, but he disregarded all of it, his hand sliding around to push Szayel's hips back against the wall, his mouth drifting lower on the other man's body as he knelt on the floor. Nnoitra was never on his knees, but they were already abused once today and so he would wave it off.

His thumb massaged over Szayel's tattoo and he looked back up the man's torso, grinning. "I figured ya needed some help with this."

He pulled his finger out slightly, curling it as much as he could inside of the small hole. Nnoitra leaned in and gave a few flicks of his tongue over the head of Szayel's cock; his tongue moved along the man's shaft and he pulled his hand back so that he could lick inside of Szayel's Hollow hole. His motions were brief and he was soon sucking at the tip, both of his hands running over the Octava's thighs as he held him in place, before taking him deeper into his throat.

.

Szayel would have made some witty comeback or another, but as it was, he had to force himself just to stand. Especially after Nnoitra started moving down his chest. He was thankful for the hand that pushed him to the wall, though he would never admit it. Stability and control were seeping from him with the tide of his reiatsu, which he also fought to keep steady.

Szayel placed his hands against the wall, with his fingers splayed out for further support. He met Nnoitra's gaze. The man spoke again, but what he said made no sense. Szayel was again thankful that he chose this time to move. He cry was loud and he fought not to arch his back. Nnoitra's hands and mouth were the only things keeping him standing.

The man was assaulting his weak spot, but Szayel was beyond caring. When the Quinta began to lick him, he raised a brow, but could not muster any words of surprise. That would come later. For now, Szayel was seeing white as Nnoitra used that wicked tongue of his to play with Szayel's Hollow hole. His blood thrummed in his ears as one hand fell to Nnoitra's head, curling in black locks. The man's fingers were all that was stopping Szayel from thrusting into his mouth.

.

Nnoitra savored the hand in his hair and the lack of control that Szayel was displaying. It only heightened his sense of power and, considering it was one of the main reasons behind his actions, that was a good thing. He continued with his ministrations, taking Szayel further into his mouth with each bob of his head. He would never admit it, but watching Szayel at the meeting was fueling every one of his motions now: the way Aaroniero's hands wandered over what they should not touch, the way Ulquiorra's cock slid into what was not his. Nnoitra was sure that Szayel would not understand- even _he_ didn't fully comprehend it- but he had to reclaim what belonged to him. He had to leave his mark, force the Octava to see that he did not need anyone else. The thoughts confused him, frustrated him, and so he shook them from his head, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Nnoitra gave one final move forward, taking Szayel entirely into his mouth, relishing the familiar smell of Szayel's skin. His tongue worked at the underside of the man's cock, curling along that heavy pulse, before he pulled back and teased the head. As his hands moved around to grab Szayel's ass, his eye flashed upwards, meeting Szayel's gaze. And then he was pulling the man away from the wall, driving his hips closer and his cock back into the heat of his mouth. He hummed contentedly.

.

It was easier to remain standing now that Nnoitra was only sucking his cock. Szayel's legs were still shaky, his chest still heaving, but he was able to maintain his balance. And then Nnoitra pulled him from the wall and further into his mouth. Szayel let out a deep groan, his eyelids fluttering. He met the Quinta's gaze, even more glad for the grip he had on the man's hair.

The hum had him shutting his eyes tight as his breathing picked up even more.

.

Nnoitra growled at the low noise that escaped from Szayel's throat. Despite the fact that he was the one on his knees, he felt more in control than ever; every motion of the other man along the wall only added to that.

He brought Szayel's hips closer, driving himself forward to meet each thrust that his own hands were causing. His breath was hot against the Octava's stomach. Nnoitra's nails were beginning to break through the skin on the back of the other man's thighs, his movements becoming quicker, his tongue teasing endlessly over Szayel's shaft and, when he had him deep enough, slipping again into his Hollow hole. When he pulled back, he lightly grazed his teeth over the length of hard flesh, sucking on the head, and then repeating himself.

.

When Nnoitra began pulling their bodies together in earnest, Szayel couldn't help himself. He began to thrust into that mouth as sweat worked its way down his brow and over the sides of his mask. He didn't waste his time making deductions about Nnoitra's motives due to the decrease in blood flow to his brain. Rather, Szayel luxuriated in the feel of that mouth around him. The longer Nnoitra kept going, the more Szayel started to feel like himself again. Hysteria was still present, but it was receding back to that underlying place in his psyche where it usually remained.

Szayel matched Nnoitra's movements with his own hips as the man's nails dug into his thighs. And then Nnoitra was toying with his Hollow hole again. Szayel almost collapsed. When the man's teeth scraped over him again and again it was all over. Szayel all but screamed as his release overtook him. His hand tightened in Nnoitra's hair and entire body tensed with the pleasure of it all.

.

Nnoitra was glad when the other man finally started to thrust against him. It took him fucking long enough to get the hint. The thought hardly lingered in his head, however, as he focused on keeping up his pace. And he could feel from Szayel's hurried motions that he was nearing his limit.

When Szayel came against his tongue, he savored the taste, only having traces of it before now. He maintained his suction until the hands in his hair gripped harder and then he pulled back, raising a finger to wipe at the corner of his mouth before sucking it between his lips. Nnoitra could feel the muscles beneath his touch contracting, and so he kept his hold on the man's hips, wrapping his arms around Szayel's waist when he stood up and squared his shoulders. Dipping his head, he licked along the Octava's throat; his own cock was throbbing and he bit down for any kind of release.

Nnoitra raised his head to speak into Szayel's ear, his voice rough with lust. "You have to go to the lab," he said, repeating what the other man had tried to use an excuse earlier. His hands moved up Szayel's back and he pulled him closer, his hips rocking despite the fact that the friction was pointless. "I'll come too, mm?" Nnoitra's mouth drifted over Szayel's jaw. "If ya fix this shit, I can fuck you the right way."

.

It took a while for Szayel to come down. When he did, Nnoitra was holding him up. Szayel relaxed against him, allowing himself a moment of respite in order to regain his strength. He didn't think he could walk just yet, not after that. It wasn't something he wanted Nnoitra to see or even know about. Szayel let himself be pulled closer. He leaned in, offering the other man his throat. Szayel dropped a hand to massage Nnoitra's cock as the man's heated words rang in his ear.

"You won't be too bored, will you?" he said, as he continued his ministrations. Szayel wrapped his free arm around Nnoitra's torso and turned his head just enough to lick his cheek. In reality, He had considered asking the Quinta to come, but he hadn't thought the man would want to. Or even if he did, Szayel was afraid he would break one of his precious inventions with that careless curiosity of his. Szayel did not say that it would take a while or even that it could be done because they weren't in his laboratory, but out in the open where the wrong ears could hear them.

.

Nnoitra was moving his mouth back down Szayel's neck when that hand touched his cock. He couldn't help but push up into the contact, and he groaned into the other man's ear. He had almost forgotten about the binding that had been placed on him. Until now, when he desperately needed release. He bit down once more, this time on Szayel's shoulder. But the blood against his tongue was not relief. It simply intensified his cravings.

The Octava's words, at least, had him laughing. "How could I be bored?" he asked, before lowering his head to stain his lips crimson. He didn't even consider all the experiments and equipment that he could fuck around with. He only needed one toy in that lab and he was already assaulting it. Nnoitra let out a grunt when Szayel's hand worked over him, his back arching for more, and he pressed his mouth against the other man's, sliding his tongue past teeth to massage over Szayel's own. He let out a quiet noise from deep in his chest and ran his fingers down Szayel's back.

.

Szayel shivered at the bite. The feeling of those blocky teeth sinking into his flesh would never get old. The Quinta had quite a mouth, moreso than any of the other Arrancar Szayel with whom Szayel deigned to sleep. Fortunate that he was the perfect person to appreciate it.

"How, indeed?" Szayel could imagine the problem perfectly well. But, then, he knew of several solutions to fix it. Szayel pondered these while he returned the kiss, his hand still working over Nnoitra's cock. The noises the man was making had Szayel responding in kind. He clutched the back of the Quinta's head, and pushed deeper into the other man's mouth.

Deciphering and annulling Aizen's kidou would be quite the project. He would need his full intellectual acumen if he was to accomplish the task. Distractions could not be permitted. The Quinta's presence would make that difficult, but he had already thought of the perfect arrangement. When Szayel felt his strength return, or at least enough to permit him to walk, he pulled back from the kiss.

"Let's go," he said, his voice slightly breathy.

Grimmjow had been wandering for what felt like hours, but he could still feel the pulse of the other Espada's reiatsu. He wasn't nearly far enough away yet.

And already he was exhausted.

Compared to the first time that he had been collared, the lack of his own spirit energy felt much worse this time around. He had spent a few minutes at the start of his departure simply attempting to rid himself of the flimsy metal. Any efforts were, of course, unsuccessful. Whatever this was, it was much better than its predecessor. He felt winded even trying to get rid of it. The Sexta had a feeling that the only way out of this was going to the Quinta or the Octava for help. That thought alone made death in the desert all the more appealing.

As fatigued as he felt, when he stopped he could not fall asleep. At first, he assumed that it was his body's way of reacting to the changes that the collar was making. But as time dragged on and he was still unable to relax, Grimmjow was struck with the dreadful idea that this was another side-effect. And if that was the case, escape would prove much less bearable than he had originally hoped. At least if he had the ability to sleep, Grimmjow could have dozed for his entire excursion, meandered back to Las Noches when the number on his back called him once again, and had Aizen remove the fucking choker from around his throat.

When he had moved far enough away that he could no longer sense reiatsu, Grimmjow lay down. He shut his eyes, certain that he wouldn't be able to sleep, but not wanting to stare up into that blue sky. That fucking bastard Aizen was probably looking down on him now. He clenched his jaw as he held his eyelids shut tightly. And even if he didn't want to, his thoughts drifted. And they drifted to Yylfordt. He would have been more annoyed by it, but the man was his only memory that didn't inspire complete hatred; not that he couldn't deal with hatred, but at the moment, he didn't have the energy for it. Of course, thinking about this man would require an entirely different energy. At least he had that. Grimmjow licked his lips.

Running a hand down his chest, he relaxed his hips. This was definitely a good way to forget about the shit position he had found himself in. Grimmjow massaged over the lines of definition in his abdomen, slid his hand back up to thumb over a nipple, his breath already hitching at the simple touch. While he teased himself, his free hand slipped beneath the hem of his hakama and he fisted his cock.

He focused on Yylfordt while he pumped himself: the sight of the other man spread out on his bed when he came home, the delicious tongue working over him, Yylfordt on his knees, ready and willing to do whatever Grimmjow needed to get off. The recollections were luring heavy breaths from his lips now as he lay in the middle of the desert, just as they had back in the comfort and security of his room. He bit down on his lower lip and pushed his hips up from the ground to thrust into his palm.

Every thought of his Fracción had his pace quickening. He was desperately fucking his own hand, scoring his nails over his skin, and he wanted more than anything to let out the growl that he could feel building in the back of his throat. He was so close. He could feel it. He could feel Yylfordt's lips sucking against him. He could feel Yylfordt's body clenching around him. He could almost taste the sweat off of the other man's skin. His thumb pressed over the head of his cock and all of his muscles tensed in preparation for his release. Grimmjow's back arched from the ground. Just a little bit more…

Sweat dripped from his forehead. He was right on the edge; he knew it. Relief was so close, but it never came. His hips jerked uselessly. His hand continued pumping. He had to grind his teeth painfully just to force himself to stop. It was pointless. And it fucking sucked.

Grimmjow's body shook as he fought to relax against the ground. He was panting, shivering when he reached up to wipe his brow. With his arms draped over his face, Grimmjow contemplated pleading. It was probably for the best that he lacked a voice; he didn't want to hear the pathetic noises that would have been slipping past his lips at this point.

He would rid himself of his hakama later due to the heat and because of the friction of the fabric against his aching erection. But it didn't matter.

The Sexta walked for as long as he could before he was overcome with exhaustion, and then he laid down and watched the endless sky. His eyelids weighed down and closed, but he didn't sleep, _couldn't_ sleep. He was going to die out in this wasteland unless he smashed his pride and begged for help. Grimmjow sucked in a sharp breath before he rolled over and buried his face in the sand.


	18. Part II: Chapter 11

.

**The Coronation of Self: Part II**

**Chapter Eleven**

**By: Ryoko & SZP**

Nnoitra had been standing under the hot water for a good five minutes. The walk back to the laboratory was not exciting in any way, but the taste of Szayel and blood on his tongue wasn't fading. And with it, neither was his full arousal. By the time that they were back in the lab and the Octava was pushing him into the showers, he was hard again. Nnoitra stood there, the steaming spray assaulting his body, and leaned a shoulder against the glass wall, his fist around himself working adamantly and to no avail; it wasn't that he expected to suddenly break through the bakudō. He simply wanted some kind of relief, _any kind_ of relief, and keeping himself directly on the edge was all that he could think of.

After a few more minutes, Nnoitra grunted, annoyed by his lack of progress. He switched the faucet over so that the water was as cold as it could be, feeling the heat dissipate almost immediately. The fog in the room began to clear as well. Nnoitra lifted his head to let the chilled water wash over him. It didn't help very much with his stubborn erection, but it took his focus away from it, and he thought instead about the fact that every hair on his body was now standing on edge. He stayed this way until it was hardly noticeable, aside from the throbbing in his head due to the frigidness of it. And he ignored, as best as he could, his desires, keeping himself busy by working his fingers over his skin, lathering himself and letting the icy water wash the soap away. He savored the feel of his nails in his scalp when he massaged the shampoo into his hair. The thought that it smelled like Szayel entered his mind and only briefly, before he forced it out. If he couldn't even make it through one shower, there was no way he would last until he was somehow relieved of this. Nnoitra fought to ignore the fact that his own touch accompanied by his thoughts was exciting him, and continued to clean himself.

.

After directing the Quinta to the shower, Szayel immediately began work on deciphering the kidou. He had various scans run on the one attached to his body and then inputted the information into his computer. For all the Shinigami liked to think of kidou as some kind of magic, they were not. No, kidou were simply patterns of reiatsu that served specific purposes. If one was keen enough to notice the subtle differences between them, one could do much with that information. Although Szayel was restricted from both the living world and Soul Society, he had already researched what was available to him. Every kidou that any of the three former captains had used while in Las Noches had been recorded and analyzed by him. That was why after much trial and error, he had been able to come up with an exacting serum to counteract the negative effects of the summoning kidou.

This one would be different. However, with the information Szayel already had, it would be a simple matter of finding the opposite type energy waves and combining them to cancel out the kidou. Reproducing it for when they next met would take much more work. But either way, he did not need nor could he function under distracting circumstances. Which was why he had immediately gone to his shielded chamber to release Fornicaras.

It was only logical that Szayel could get much more work done if there were more of him. He had begun employing this method long ago. It was part of his secret for such rapid success with all of his inventions. Perfection was seldom without his perfect companions while working on more difficult projects, Aizen's kidou certainly among those. Szayel had another reason for releasing this time. That was to see if the kidou would remain intact during and after his transformation. He completed several more scans and took several more samples before inputting the data into his computer once more.

Szayel created ten clones of himself and put them to work while he sat back and directed their actions and absorbed their memories and information. To avoid cumbersome mishaps in the laboratory, he created them with his unreleased appearance. And to avoid distraction from the Quinta, he sent the man one, which was to entertain him and distract him from the more important inventions and experiments at Szayel's direction and behest.

Szayel sat elegantly sprawled on his throne, which was composed of several of his larger, more sturdy Fraccion. His eyes were closed, and his wings extended through the loopholes of his Fraccions' arms and over their heads. In front of him, the nine worked steadily. Fraccion came and went as their perfect masters decreed, with Szayel controlling everything that went on in his laboratory.

.

Nnoitra was massaging the shampoo into his scalp when he could feel Szayel step into the shower. He focused on his motions, keeping his eye closed, ignoring the other Espada for as long as he could.

"What d'ya want?" he asked, lowering his head under the spray and letting the water rinse out the lather.

He waited a moment, slicking his hair back, before turning to look at the other man. His eye drifted over Szayel's naked body, lingering on the places where his bite marks and bruises should have been. The fresh skin was tempting. When his gaze met Szayel's own, his eyebrow quirked upwards. The Octava looked exactly the same, aside from the markings around his eye. It took Nnoitra a moment to understand, but when he did, he grit his teeth. "Figures," he snarled.

He took a step closer, reaching out to grab Szayel's neck. He thumbed over the other man's throat, cocking his head slightly to assess the pseudo-Octava's responses. Nnoitra's fingers curled and he moved closer, his other hand mimicking his first as he took Szayel's neck in his grasp and pulled him against his lips. The kiss felt the same, though he pushed his tongue deep into Szayel's mouth to taste for any differences. He drew back and bit down almost immediately on the man's bottom lip; the blood tasted the same too. It would do.

.

Szayel could only put so much of his focus in one place. His clones were as perfect as their source material, yes, but with so many of them, it was a lot of information to take in all at once. So many invaluable thoughts and reactions to process. So it was that he could only devote to Nnoitra a fraction of the attention he would normally pay the man. Yet it was more than enough. As the clone's body was one-hundred percent authentic, it would display the same reactions and take the same initiatives as Szayel would have himself.

The clone shivered, becoming aroused as Nnoitra paid it attention. Soon, under Szayel's direction, it had taken the man's cock into it's hand and begun stroking.

"You wanted me to work on your little problem, didn't you?" it said, and smiled.

.

It was easy to ignore the fact that this was a clone, especially when its hand wrapped around him. Nnoitra's muscles tensed. He had been trying to get off since he had stepped into the shower; he didn't assume that Szayel would be able to do it either, but that didn't mean that he couldn't enjoy the sensations as they came to him.

"Ya really think you can do shit about it?" he asked, grinding his teeth. His hands slid down Szayel's chest, thumbing over a nipple as they moved lower, settling on the man's hips and tugging him closer. When his mouth hovered over the other man's ear, he lowered his voice. "Show me what ya fuckin' got."

.

Szayel's clone moved closer in turn, and began grinding against the Quinta even as it continued pumping his cock.

"My, my, so impatient. There isn't a single other Arrancar who can accomplish this, you know," the clone said, as it leaned in to lick the shell of Nnoitra's ear. Its other hand wandered across Nnoitra's body, massaging his sides and back.

"And in such a short amount of time. You really should be a little more thankful."

.

When the other man slid against him, Nnoitra let out a low growl. His tone was a combination of anger and arousal when he spoke. "I ain't impatient," he said, arching up into the touch. The noise that escaped from his throat at the tongue along his ear seemed to disagree.

Nnoitra dug his nails into the small of Szayel's back, keeping him near as he began to rock his hips into the man's palm. Lowering his head, he sucked on the side of Szayel's neck, his breath coming heavier with each pump of that hand around his cock. The thought of being left hanging again made him grip tighter. Release was a simple need. And being deprived of that necessity had his teeth sinking into skin; he let out a long breath against the bite mark, licking his lips of the blood.

"It'd better be fuckin' fast."

.

Szayel did not waste his time allocating any mental resources for that reply. Instead, he had the clone concentrate on pleasing the Quinta while he went about the business of deciphering the kidou. Szayel was close, far closer than he would have been had he not employed nine perfect clones at the task. There were many layers of reiatsu responsible for the finished product of the kidou. Szayel had already negated most of them. Only the inner few, the core energy responsible for holding everything together, was left.

When those last few strands came apart and the kidou broke, Szayel stood. One of his clones left the console where it had been seated and raised his uniform to apply the opposite yet equal amount of reiatsu and pressure to the site. Szayel fought to relax as flawless hands pried him open and began unwinding Aizen's work. When it released, he staggered forward. Szayel's eyes opened wide as the kidou imploded on itself and disappeared. Immediately, a Fraccion was there to relieve him of the unwanted foreign elements in his bowels.

Back with Nnoitra, the clone hissed out a sigh of pleasure, becoming fully erect as those teeth pierced its skin. It smiled again.

"I have already completed work on the kidou binding me. Let's see about yours now, shall we?"

The ceiling opened up just enough to allow the scanner to run over Nnoitra's entire form, which it did twice. The beam of orange light retreated and the ceiling closed once more. All the while, the clone never stopped with its ministrations.

.

When Nnoitra heard the clone mention that he had finished reversing the kidou, something inside of him let out a sharp breath. It wasn't relief, and it certainly wasn't hope, but it was something close to liberating. He could feel Szayel's cock against his thigh and that escalated things. Every motion of that hand around him was bringing him closer to an edge that he still could not go over. Scoring his nails over Szayel's back, he shifted his hips, moving his mouth over more clean flesh to bite down again. It was the only thing that he could do tear his focus from how desperately he needed to come.

He hardly noticed the ceiling as it opened, only aware of it because of the light that scanned over him. It was only a few seconds and he didn't have a fucking clue what it was, so he dismissed it. Based on what Szayel said, he assumed it was whatever was going to get rid of his binding. But without knowing for sure, he had to make due with what he had.

Nnoitra's tongue probed the fresh wounds that he had created before he raised his head to tug on an earlobe. A moan fell from his lips that he instantly regretted. This definitely needed to happen quickly.

.

While the clone continued to pleasure Nnoitra, satisfying each and every craving of the man's that it could, Szayel was processing the data from the scan and comparing it to the other kidou. The two were very similar. So much so that by the time he got done cross referencing the threads of reiatsu used to make the one imprisoning Nnoitra, there really wasn't much work left to do. And with nine of him working on it, the time passed quicker than ever. When he had the correct results, he had his clone trace a path down Nnoitra's chest with its tongue and then hold firm to his thighs.

"Your turn," it said, and then took Nnoitra's erection into its mouth and began to tear apart the kidou strand by strand by applying those key opposite energy frequencies to it. When the process was complete, the clone pulled back with a smile. Szayel's smile.

.

Nnoitra was somewhat surprised when the clone moved lower over his body. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy that hot tongue slipping down his chest or the solid grip on his thighs, but rather that he just didn't see the point when it couldn't even satisfy his most basic needs. The words did not register until the man's tongue was on him and then nothing else really seemed important in comparison.

It was almost painful, the feel of the binding being stripped from him. Not that he cared either way about discomfort. Everything that he knew was linked to it, after all. Szayel's mouth aided in the initial sting, however, and he felt as if each slide of that talented tongue was unraveling him as well.

When Szayel pulled back and smiled at him, he couldn't help himself. Nnoitra came quickly and hard, his breath heaving now that he was finally able to relish his release. His hand dropped to pump himself of what remained, his motions only stopping when his body began to shake. With a rough breath, he stepped back and let the water wash over him once again.

.

The clone licked its face clean of Nnoitra's semen before returning to the laboratory where Szayel ended its short life along with all of the other nine. He would join Nnoitra for a shower and then rest. He was owed that much.


	19. Part II: Chapter 12

.

**The Coronation of Self: Part II**

**Chapter Twelve**

**By: Ryoko & SZP**

The warm mouth on his cock was exquisite, even moreso for the fact that it was Yylfordt doing the sucking. Szayel's smirk was malicious as he stared down at his weak, pathetic brother. He ran a hand through blonde strands, but did not pull. No, they were past that phase now. Amazing how quickly he had _tamed the bull_. But then again, Yylfordt was doing nothing but meeting Szayel's low expectations. Exceeding, if Szayel was honest with himself.

He hummed low in his throat as the man took him deeper, and thought fondly over their time together. After Szayel had gotten past the initial irritation he had experienced over having Yylfordt come to bother him again, he had spent days tormenting the man. Such pleasant torture. So well worth it to humiliate one of the people he despised most in the world. Such a worthless example of an Arrancar. Yylfordt's mere existence shamed perfection. If he hadn't been tucked under Grimmjow's arm, Szayel would have killed him long ago. He might have now, but he was being cautious after his act of insubordination.

"Mmm...yes, like that," Szayel said, when Yylfordt scraped his teeth along his shaft. He ignored the accompanying glare. Of course, as amusing as it was to humiliate and degrade the Fraccion, Szayel could think of one or two people he would rather have on their knees in front of him. Nnoitra, for one. But then there was also Aaroniero, who had been eying him lately and dropping a lewd suggestion or two whenever they were alone. Diversity kept the mind and body active. Szayel wanted that most of all.

.

When Grimmjow finally entered Las Noches, he fell forward onto his hands and knees. The ground was cold underneath him and he savored it. He had grown so tired of the heat and the pressure from the desert. He had no idea how long it had been since he left; he hadn't slept at all. He couldn't. The time that Grimmjow spent alone could have been hours or weeks. He didn't honestly know. All that he knew was that if he did not return now, he would die out there on his own.

The reiatsu inside was typical, though it felt a thousand times more powerful to Grimmjow now. The only positive part of his weakness was that, after a while outside, his arousal would dissipate, when all that he could think about was survival. But when his thoughts drifted- and being alone for what felt like so long, they certainly did drift- it hit him in full force. After the first few days, Grimmjow had given up on trying to relieve himself. It just wasn't possible with the collar around his neck.

Grimmjow was panting by the time he made it to his feet again. He just had to get to Szayel's lab. If he had made it this far, he could get there. What happened once he was there was an entirely different matter, but he had no choice but to risk it. The trek seemed longer than ever before, and it took all of his remaining energy just to open the door. Grimmjow took a few steps into the room and stopped, his eyes widening.

_Yylfordt_. Szayel had gotten to him first. Of course. Gritting his teeth, the Sexta moved deeper into the room, glaring at the scientist on his throne, Grimmjow's Fracción on his knees, between Szayel's legs. He would have roared if he had the voice, but as it was, he could only watch. He ignored the quick rise and fall of his chest to open his mouth, a rough breath the only thing that escaped from his throat. His fists clenched.

.

Szayel's eyes rolled back into his head as Yylfordt continued to suck. The man had truly gotten better at it. Of course, he would after having Szayel's superb instruction. It was always nice to reap the benefits of his efforts.

When Grimmjow walked in, Szayel's gaze was all for him. He kept silent as the man approached. Szayel didn't want Yylfordt to become _too_ distracted. He studied the Espada's ragged appearance with a raised brow, one hand urging Yylfordt on.

"Sexta, how nice of you to finally join us," he said, finally. Szayel didn't have to feel Yylfordt tense. He could see it. He hit his brother on top of his head in warning. It was light enough not to jar, but the threat was there.

"Don't stop." The mouth moved again, this time, Szayel felt, in a kind of desperation. Marvelous.

He sucked in a breath and let it out as a moan, his own breathing starting to pick up.

.

Grimmjow met Szayel's gaze, and he walked further into the room. That smug expression was just begging to be ripped off of his face. Grimmjow would have killed him in that instant if he had the strength. Right now he couldn't even speak, though that might have been for the better. If he could say everything that was on his mind, he would have, and chances were good that none of it was what Szayel wanted to hear. Grimmjow considered that Yylfordt's circumstances rested on his shoulders as well. Everything that he did would affect them both.

He ignored Szayel to glance down at the blond. Even if he didn't want to, he was getting turned on by this. He would blame it on his week's worth of lacking contact or his inability to even get himself off. At least, that seemed less disgusting than the alternative. His body tensed when Szayel reprimanded Yylfordt and he was sure that the Octava would notice it. Grimmjow was powerless right now and that wouldn't be of any use to himself or his Fracción. It was clear that Szayel was taunting him, but he would have to tolerate it if he wanted what he came here for. Grimmjow held his stare, his blue eyes flashing with contempt. It was about all that he could do at the moment.

.

Szayel let his brother work that delicious tongue over him-the Numeros's one and only talent, it seemed-until he came with a throaty moan down the inferior man's throat. Yylfordt kept his tongue moving as Szayel had trained him to do, until he was clean. Szayel held the Sexta's stare with half-lidded eyes the entire time.

When it was over, he nudged Yylfordt back with his foot before standing and placing a condescending hand on his head. Yylfordt's anger and shame were palpable, the spice of Szayel's afterglow.

Szayel left the blonde behind knowing that he wouldn't turn to look. No, Yylfordt had been given very specific instructions for this moment. Disobeying would mean that neither he nor his Espada would be released. Szayel didn't think he would want to see, anyway.

Szayel approached the Sexta and wrapped one arm around his neck as he leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"I thought you deserved a present. You've already enjoyed the training I gave him before, hmm?" he said, his tone a low purr "And I only had him for a few hours that time."

Szayel slid his other hand down the Sexta's back, massaging muscles as he went. He pressed their bodies together, ever so accidentally brushing his naked flesh along the man's cock.

"Imagine what he's like now." Szayel licked the shell of Grimmjow's ear, disregarding the taste of sweat on his tongue.

.

Grimmjow's breath hitched at Szayel's release, and he let out a slow breath as he watched Yylfordt take it. The blond didn't turn to meet his eyes like he had hoped. Instead, he was kicked aside and the younger of the two brothers was narrowing their distance, every step closer to him making Grimmjow tense. If only he had his strength, he would cut the Octava down where he stood.

When that arm wrapped around his neck, he glared, and when those words reached his ears, he ground his teeth. He wished that his body didn't respond so freely to the touch, especially not when it was this Granz that was on him, but the mere contact was enough to have his hips loosening; Grimmjow willed his stubborn pelvis to stop before it began to rock against the other man. It certainly didn't help that Szayel was speaking so generously about his brother. The Sexta didn't need another reason to be aroused, but the thought of Yylfordt's "training" only had him desperate for his Fracción.

Grimmjow strained to keep himself from arching into the touch, and looked over the other Espada's shoulder to the blond on the ground.

.

Yylfordt wiped his mouth against his hand when he was sure the fucker couldn't see. Assholes could say what they liked about his hair, but it had its uses. That his face was hidden from the two Espada was the only thing he had going for him at the moment. He didn't want Grimmjow to see him like this, and he most certainly didn't want to see Szayel, of all people, putting his filthy hands on him. The subtle sound of flesh rubbing against flesh was painful enough to his ears. Plus, he'd fucking blow it and it would all have been for nothing if he saw that. Five days of torture, and it wouldn't mean shit. Yylfordt's skin crawled and his stomach tightened as he thought of all that had been done to him, all he'd been _subjected_ to.

No, Yylfordt wouldn't let that happen. Not even to meet the eyes he felt boring into his soul from behind. He'd play his part, get the fuck out of there with Grimmjow, and never look or come back again. Never, ever.

.

Szayel pulled back just enough to meet Grimmjow's gaze.

"He looks good like that, doesn't he?" A far inferior presentation than the one Szayel would have made in the same situation, but there was no accounting for taste with the Sexta. Szayel twined around Grimmjow's body, then pulled away to run a hand down his chest as he moved to the side to look back at Yylfordt with Grimmjow. A flick of his wrist had the Sexta's vocal and ejaculative privileges restored.

"If you want him, _take him_." Even if Yylfordt were unwilling, he would present little challenge for the Sexta, matching collar or not. Truth be told, Szayel was very interested in how this would play out. Aaroniero had been whispering in his ear lately, tantalizing Szayel with promises of a new kind of sexual experience. The connoisseur was intrigued. Very intrigued. But not enough to plunge headfirst into such unknown territory. No, first he needed to experiment. The stage was set, Grimmjow and Yylfordt perfect specimens for this little adventure.

.

Grimmjow watched as the blond shifted slightly, but from where he stood, he could not tell what he was doing. He had seen the man on his knees like that many times before, but something about this time seemed different. Yylfordt looked pathetic, weak- although Grimmjow was sure that _he_ couldn't have looked much better. It didn't excite him like it normally would. It made his stomach turn and the only thing that he could feel was his absolute hatred for Szayel, for the man that made his Fracción this way.

Every movement that Szayel made over his body had him tensing, craving his freedom and his ability to reclaim what was his. Something clicked and he coughed harshly; it was the first time that he heard a sound besides breath escape from his throat. The throbbing in his cock seemed to lessen as well, though he ignored it to focus on Szayel's face.

Grimmjow met the man's eyes with a violent glare. "Fuck you." It was about all he could get out, and even then, his voice cracked from its lack of use. He shoved the Octava to the side and stumbled to where the blond was sitting.

As soon as his hands touched the man's back, his body relaxed. He could blame the collar, or his weakened state, or his week alone, or whatever the fuck the actual reason was. He couldn't be bothered with it right now. It didn't matter. Crouching down, he wrapped his arms around Yylfordt's body, pulling him tighter against himself. His voice lowered, still rough, as he spoke into his Fracción's ear. "Y'okay?"

.

Grimmjow's response was far different than Szayel had expected, but after a week with all the constraints Nnoitra had put him under it was hardly unlikely. Szayel had been fazed by what happened to him despite how he fought against it and despite how Nnoitra's company had given him something else about which to think. Grimmjow had had far worse. Which was why Szayel knew he would be amenable to much. He smirked as he watched the two.

.

Yylfordt tensed as someone approached. Those steps were too heavy to be from Szayel. A second later and Grimmjow's rough hands were on him. He'd been half-expecting a punch, but was instead treated to a caress. Just like that night when Yylfordt had proven himself. It was the same. Before he knew it, Yylfordt found himself relaxing against the other man.

It hadn't been a dream. He hadn't been putting his ass on the line for nothing.

The ensuing nightmare was all to real though. But somehow, with Grimmjow right there-even though they were both so goddamn weak at the moment-it felt like it was all going to be okay. Szayel was an asshole and a crazy motherfucker, but it didn't matter. They would be out of there soon. Yylfordt had seen to that. He'd paid the cost with his own body. Now his reward was here.

"I should be asking you that," he said, his voice low to match. One of his hands covered Grimmjow's own as he finally turned to face the man. "Lemme." He swallowed. "Let me fix it." Yylfordt still didn't have any words to describe what the fuck had happened between them, but that didn't matter either.

.

Grimmjow felt more relieved when the other man spoke than when his own ability to talk had been restored. And when Yylfordt looked him in the eye, his features softened. He wasn't sure what the blond had in mind, but he stopped him. "Wait." His voice was almost a whisper.

His grip around Yylfordt tightened, and he lowered his head to nuzzle against the crook of the man's neck. Grimmjow really had no idea what was going on in his head. He didn't care that Szayel was watching or that they were out in the open or that this broke almost every single one of his own rules when it came to relationships. What was important was the smell of Yylfordt's hair, the feel of his skin, the heat from his body. And so he held on for a few minutes, appreciating what he had been so recently robbed of. Grimmjow's breathing slowed.

When he finally loosened, it was to move so that he was facing his Fracción. His eyes regarded the smooth flesh of that lithe form, drinking in the sight of Yylfordt's naked body so that he could come back to this memory later. The fact that he was even regarding the man this much was completely new to him; but it was the only thing that he wanted right now.

Grimmjow raised his eyes and met the blond's stare once again. He lowered Yylfordt against the floor and climbed over him, relishing the warmth that was already soaking into his body. Dipping his head, he kissed and licked at the man's neck and chest, his rough hands wandering over familiar skin as if it were the first time. He kept his motions slow. It had been too long and he was going to savor every inch of the man beneath him.

.

Grimmjow had never been one to hesitate. But Yylfordt knew his Espada had had far worse than him because Szayel hadn't felt the least bad about telling him all about it. He didn't know what to do when Grimmjow just held him. It was one of the oddest things, but it felt right so he didn't mind. Yylfordt could do nothing but tighten his grip on the man's hand. His breathing became even and deep. Yylfordt almost felt like it was just them in the room. If not for the imposing Fraccion throne in front of him, he would have sworn they were somewhere else. Anywhere else.

And then Grimmjow was staring at him. In the past, Yylfordt would have cursed himself for the way his breathing picked up-just from the man looking at him, nothing else. But Grimmjow was deadly serious, and anticipation was all Yylfordt felt. For once, he was able to tune out his brother's presence, that condescending reiatsu, and simply enjoy what was happening to him.

Yylfordt met his stare. All the things he wouldn't or couldn't say were in his eyes. And then the man's mouth was on him and Yylfordt was lost. He wrapped his arms around Grimmjow, running his hands over Grimmjow's flesh as if it was the first time, which was almost the truth. His breath hitched in his throat, and he tilted his head in offering. Just this almost made what happened to him worth it.

.

When Yylfordt's arms wrapped around him, Grimmjow hummed. His mouth was moving higher, his lips sliding over warm skin, until he was pressing kisses behind the other man's ear, fighting to keep his breathing calm despite his urges. Grimmjow's willpower was shaky at the moment, but he used what he could to keep his movements steady. For whatever reason, he wanted to take things slow. It was hard when he was finally able to touch and feel and experience the other man, especially after so long without any contact.

His hands drifted lower and his fingers kneaded Yylfordt's hips, before moving to massage circles into the man's thighs. Grimmjow was already settled between his legs, but he spread him open further, rocking his pelvis to grind himself against Yylfordt's skin. "_Shit_," he groaned deeply.

Grimmjow licked along Yylfordt's jaw, up to an earlobe which he bit down on. His pulse sped up. Breathing roughly, he spoke again. "You feel so fuckin' good."

He pulled back to meet the other man's eyes as his hips rolled again, and grit his teeth to keep a moan from escaping his throat.

.

Grimmjow's body against his own was a welcome reprieve from the cold and callous ministrations of the Octava. Yylfordt couldn't help the way he hardened from simple touches alone, or the breathy gasps the other man wrung out of him. Yylfordt would have spread his legs without any prompting, but he let Grimmjow have that pleasure. The other man's moan drew one of his own to accompany the friction of their bodies moving against each other.

Yylfordt's hands were desperate now. They moved with increasing urgency down Grimmjow's back and along his sides. He spread himself even further in offering, the other man's name passing his lips like a promise.

.

He could tell that the other man was ready based on his actions, but Grimmjow was still building up his stamina. He held his gaze, his muscles tensing at the moan and his hair standing on end at his name on Yylfordt's lips.

Whatever had happened while he was gone, he considered that his fault. It was his fault that Yylfordt had been dragged in to this situation. On any other occasion, he would have ignored it; the man was his subordinate, of course he was affected by what Grimmjow did. At the moment, however, he wanted to make it up to him. He knew what Szayel was capable of when he had someone at their most vulnerable. Grimmjow couldn't voice his apology, but he hoped that his expression and his subsequent actions would be enough.

Grimmjow licked his lips and moved back. His fingers were still rubbing circles into the man's skin. He drifted lower, breathing a hot trail down the center of his Fracción's chest, nipping at his sides. Settling back on his heels, he raised the man's hips from the floor, letting his warm breath ghost over sensitive, hard flesh. Grimmjow bent down and took him into his mouth slowly, tonguing over the head of Yylfordt's cock before sucking him between his lips.

.

Yylfordt moaned and writhed under the Sexta. He had not been allowed to relieve himself all week either. Szayel had laughed at him while draining his erection of blood each time it happened, a frequent occurrence. But not before letting him suffer for a time. Yylfordt was almost beside himself as Grimmjow continued his slow and sensuous movements.

What happened next was a complete surprise. Yylfordt couldn't have objected to even if he had wanted to. Grimmjow had teased him before, but this was something else. Yylfordt's eyes widened before quickly going back to normal. He wasn't sure Grimmjow would appreciate the surprise and he sure as hell didn't want him to stop. Yylfordt lay riveted as he fought not to move his hips. His breathing had devolved much already. He was a panting mess now.

.

Grimmjow's eyes scanned the other man's body, watching in satisfaction as his chest began to rise and fall more quickly. He licked along the man's shaft, sucking at the head of Yylfordt's cock, before lowering once more and taking him deeper.

It was a strange position that he found himself in. And even thinking about it as much as he had been was something foreign. But he couldn't fight how good Yylfordt felt and how much having that heavy pulse against his tongue fueled his lust.

He pulled off of Yylfordt with a wet sound, one of his hands moving to the small of his back to hold the man up. Grimmjow's other hand traced back up that smooth chest, running softly over the side of Yylfordt's cheek, before he pressed his fingers against the blond's lips.

"Open," he said, though it was not hard like one of his usual commands. He still offered the accompanying hint of a smile in reassurance.

.

Yylfordt's hands scrabbled on the hard ground as he fought to contain himself. Grimmjow had never done anything like this for him before. Even though it was short, it made him feel something he couldn't name once again. Yylfordt wasn't stupid. He knew Grimmjow didn't do that for _anybody_.

It was difficult to stay up without his reiatsu, but he did so by wrapping an arm around Grimmjow's neck and using the hand supporting him. In turn, Grimmjow's gentle hand traced over his body, causing him to shiver. Before Yylfordt could ask the man what he was doing, there were fingers at his lips. He opened his mouth and sucked them in, his tongue swirling around the digits as he drew them further into his mouth. At the very least, his time with his asshole brother had taught him a few things.

.

Grimmjow let out a sharp breath at the mouth and tongue around his fingers. It made him aware of his own arousal, the recollection of that delectable heat around him, and for a moment all of his motions quickened as well as his breathing.

He withdrew his fingers. Letting Yylfordt down against the floor again, the Espada lowered his head, flicking his tongue over the head of the man's cock. A devilish satisfaction gleamed in his eyes before he again took in Yylfordt fully, his tongue working at the man's shaft as his nose pressed against Yylfordt's stomach. His hand moved down as well, and he slipped both of his wet fingers inside, burying them up to his second knuckle and then curling. Grimmjow hummed around the flesh in his mouth, sliding the suction of his lips along Yylfordt's cock to the pace of his working digits.

.

It was unbelievable, but Yylfordt knew what was coming next. He did not, however, expect Grimmjow to attend to his erection again. Nor as much as the man did. When Grimmjow took him all the way in, Yylfordt's head flew back to smack against the floor. For an instant he was dazed. Yylfordt came back to the pleasant sound and feeling of Grimmjow humming around his cock. The additional stimulation of the fingers had him on the edge again. He gritted his teeth to keep from coming. He had to last. He had made it this long. Just a little farther.

.

Grimmjow was impressed with Yylfordt's restraint. Whatever Szayel had done to him seemed to be working, though he only let that thought linger for as long as it needed to. It was not easy to convey what he wanted to say when he was busy pumping the other man with his mouth, and he was fairly certain that the thrust of his fingers was not exactly the best voice for him either.

It was obvious that the blond was holding out, and most likely for Grimmjow's sake. He couldn't see Yylfordt's face, but he could feel the muscles tensing under his touch and around him, and he could feel the heartbeat hastening against his tongue.

His free hand moved over Yylfordt's body, stopping to thumb a nipple. The Sexta didn't want to have to tell the other man that it was okay for him to let go. And so he simply growled low in his throat and kept up his ministrations.

.

Yylfordt looked down the heaving length of his chest and abdomen to meet Grimmjow's gaze. He didn't know why the other man was doing this for him, but it brought a flush, long suppressed, to his face.

"Grimmjow, I can't-"

Yylfordt couldn't get all the words out, couldn't tell him to stop. He concentrated on cool ground under his back as he tried to hold on. But when Grimmjow kept it up, even going so far as to grope him, it was all over. Yylfordt came with a moan so loud he thought for sure he had blown his voice too. His hips jerked upward and his knees tried to close as spasms raced through his muscles. It felt so good. Too damn good. He was left a wilted, panting mess.

.

Grimmjow did not slow his movements, even when Yylfordt began to speak. If anything, the words only urged him on.

When the other man's body contracted and Grimmjow felt those long legs tightening around him, he was more than ready. His mouth continued to work, milking the blond of all that he had. Lapping at what remained of Yylfordt's release, Grimmjow drew back, looking down and grinning in satisfaction; his fingers quirked once more before he removed them as well.

Seeing his Fracción this way made him even more hungry for his own relief. Grimmjow waited a moment and then crawled over, straddling Yylfordt and holding himself up on his arms. He gave one quick lick along the side of the man's cheek. Something needed to be said, he thought, but he had no idea how to word whatever it was. While he thought on it, he rolled his hips, groaning at the friction against his throbbing cock, and he sank his teeth into Yylfordt's collarbone. He had hoped that the familiar taste of blood would distract him, but it made his breath hitch. Pushing himself up, he stared down at the blond and licked his lips.

.

It took a moment for Yylfordt to come down. When he did, Grimmjow was already hovering over him again. Although he was sated for the moment, he knew the other man was not. Yylfordt would still do something about that. Even if he hadn't wanted to, he knew he had to be done.

Yylfordt reached down to stroke Grimmjow's cock as the other man rocked against him. The bite to his collarbone had him stiffening in renewed pleasure. Yylfordt lifted himself far enough that he could lick the remaining blood off Grimmjow's lips before engaging him in a kiss as he continued to stroke.

.

As soon as the other man's hand was on him, he let out a gravelly moan. Grimmjow moved into the touch, rocking his hips in time to Yylfordt's strokes. His muscles tensed as he ventured to keep himself calm. This felt wonderful, but it wasn't how he wanted to get off. The mouth against his own simply added to that thought.

Grimmjow pushed back into the embrace, moving his tongue against the other man's with a low grunt. He slowed his hips to focus on the heat of Yylfordt's mouth. Almost unconsciously, he was grabbing the hand that was working on him, stopping the motions with a short breath. Grimmjow adjusted, sitting back and bringing the other man up with him, his hands drifting down Yylfordt's back as he pulled him into his lap; he kept his mouth pressed to the blond's, only drawing back to nip at Yylfordt's lips, before moving to whisper in an ear.

His hands slipped down to grab at the other man's backside. "Whenever you're ready," he said quietly. In the meantime, he occupied himself with the skin along Yylfordt's neck.

.

Yylfordt was happy to hear and sense Grimmjow's response. He pressed on with the kiss, enjoying the feel of Grimmjow's lips against his own and Grimmjow's tongue exploring his mouth. He was a bit confused by the hand stopping him until the other man brought him into his lap. Yylfordt began rocking against the Espada almost immediately, his breath beginning to pick up again.

Yylfordt wrapped his arms around Grimmjow's neck when he leaned in to whisper. The words themselves sent a shudder of anticipation down his spine, as did the hand that cupped him. Yylfordt trailed a hand down Grimmjow's side. He raised up just enough to grab Grimmjow's cock and position it at his entrance.

"I was ready," he started, as he began to sink onto it. "A week ago."

Yylfordt took Grimmjow's cock until their bodies were completely joined, the sensation enough to stop his breath completely for a moment. His hand wandered the man's side after it was no longer necessary and then rejoined the other which was still wrapped around Grimmjow's neck.

.

Grimmjow tensed at the body moving against him. He hadn't expected Yylfordt to be ready again so soon, but he was glad. He understood. It had been a week of torture, not being able to feel this man, not being able to taste him, not even able to get himself off. Just the hand around him had his muscles contracting. Yylfordt's words only confirmed his thoughts, and he leaned in to kiss him again, humming into the embrace when he was fully sheathed inside the other man.

"Fuck," he groaned when Yylfordt stopped. He pulled back, eyelids heavy, and scored his nails lightly over the Fracción's back. "I know," he said when his hands settled on narrow hips. "Me too."

Grimmjow pressed his lips to Yylfordt's once more, before turning to nip at an earlobe. He lowered his voice so that he was certain only the blond could hear him. "I'm sorry."

It felt strange to say and he still felt the tightening in his stomach even after the words passed his lips. He met Yylfordt's eyes just as he raised his hips from the floor, his grip holding the other man to meet his thrusts. Grimmjow's movements were desperate; he needed, more than anything, his release, and he clung to the man on top of him as his breathing picked up, as sweat began to bead on his skin, as his movements became hurried. He didn't give Yylfordt the time to respond, recapturing his lips again and moaning into the embrace.

.

Yylfordt shivered at the nails over his skin. It was pleasant, but what actually got him partially erect was the fact Grimmjow was staring at him like that while buried so deep inside. It was a damn good thing Grimmjow decided to kiss him in earnest after saying that too. Yylfordt was too shocked to reply, much less take any initiative. Never in all their long years had he ever heard Grimmjow apologize to anyone.

Where he might have pounced on and devoured the man for this show of what he would have thought to be weakness in the past, now it stirred a feeling in him he couldn't name or understand. Yylfordt's heart stuttered in his chest and he was unresponsive for a brief moment as flickers of a distant and hazy past invaded his psyche. It was Grimmjow's thrusting and his warm lips that brought him back to reality. Yylfordt gasped and groaned, his back arching as he clung to the man and fought to match his pace and ease his entry.

Yylfordt felt like he might fly the fuck away at any moment. All too soon and he was fully erect and moaning right back into Grimmjow's mouth.

.

Grimmjow was using the last of his strength to drive himself deeper into the other man. Whatever had gotten into him, he didn't understand. It seemed as if someone else were dictating all of his actions: speaking for him, moving for him, thinking for him. The feeling was completely foreign, but he was running with it. And that almost confused him more.

He found himself holding on desperately, and something in the back of his mind knew that it wasn't simply due to his lack of strength. Grimmjow had no idea what would happen when they got out of here. He couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't wallow in his power once it returned and abuse it like Hell just to prove himself, just to make up for lost time. He couldn't promise that he wouldn't kill the Octava the moment that he was rid of this fucking collar, or that he wouldn't hunt down the Quinta and do the same. No, the only thought that he allowed to persist was the one that overpowered all the rest. In this moment, the only thing that was of any significance was the man that was now wrapped around him. It would have hurt his head if he tried to figure it out any longer.

Yylfordt's moan tore through him and he used it to distract himself from his musings. The muscles in his arms tensed as he held the other man tightly to himself, savoring the warmth and the sweat sliding against his own hot and determined body. His thrusts were coming quicker to match his heaving breaths, though he kept his mouth pressed to Yylfordt's. The Sexta's motions grew frenzied, his fingers dug into flesh, his hips rocked eagerly, but his tongue against the other man's remained steady, and he used it as an anchor.

Grimmjow was using the last of his strength. He didn't intend to waste it.

.

Where once he might have found the arms tightly encircling him to be a prison, now they represented a kind of freedom. Yylfordt couldn't explain it, but it made him want to hold on all the more. Grimmjow's frenzied motions stirred their duplicate in Yylfordt. His chest heaved against the other man's own. Each touch of Grimmjow's body against his own spurred him on, this saying nothing for the man's cock pounding into him. He felt weak, light-headed, almost giddy.

Yylfordt's cock was being rubbed so fucking raw between their bodies. It made him crazy with lust and need. Yylfordt devoured the lips pressing against his own as he wanted to do with the rest of the man. They were close, but not nearly close enough. He wanted more.

.

Grimmjow wasn't going to last much longer. He was honestly surprised at how much he had been able to restrain himself up until this point; the fact that he had even held on for as long as he did was amazing, given his week. But he continued, pushed up into the other man more forcefully, wanting to bring the blond over with him. Yylfordt's body sliding against his own made him growl.

His movements sped up. Grimmjow was savoring their kiss, but pulled back, tugging on his subordinate's lower lip and biting down roughly. Breath fell heavily against the side of Yylfordt's face as Grimmjow moved his mouth to an ear.

"Too fuckin' good," he said, his voice rough from lust and fatigue.

"Yylfordt." The Fracción's name tore from his throat along with another low groan and he came, his back arching, his muscles straining, his hands holding the blond steady, his hips continuing to roll. He panted and let his head fall back, trying desperately not to black out from the overwhelming sensation of his release after being deprived of it for so long.

.

Each pounding he received brought Yylfordt closer to ecstasy. He felt more physically sensitive than at any other time in his memory, save for when Grimmjow's mouth had been on his cock so recently. Yylfordt might have been resentful of this in the past and considered himself weak for it. Not now. All he could think about was how good it felt to have Grimmjow this close and to finally be free.

Yylfordt heard the validation. He soaked it up, but what had him splattering both of their chests with his release wasn't just the mighty effort the Espada was putting into it but the fact that Grimmjow had said his name as he came. Yylfordt took it all in. For a moment, he saw nothing. Then, when Grimmjow's hips ceased their movement, his head fell forward to the man's shoulder where he placed a single lingering kiss. Yylfordt's arms were still wound tightly around the Espada. In a way, he was afraid to let go. After all, there was the very real possibility that Szayel was fucking with him once again. Just the thought had him burying his face against the sweaty flesh in front of him. If he was to be berated for his induced weakness anyway, he would allow the illusion of freedom precedence for a little while longer.

.

It was a few minutes before Grimmjow opened his eyes. He was only able to enjoy the satisfaction that accompanied his release for that short time before pain shot through his body; he had given too much, too soon after too long of being vulnerable, and his weakness was coming back with a vengeance. Grimmjow's hands would have fallen to his sides if he didn't have them gripping so tightly to the other man's back.

Being inside Yylfordt and having the man wrapped around him were the only things keeping him level. And his weakness seemed even more obvious when he dipped his head to kiss at the blond's shoulder. Grimmjow's fingers snaked through long blond hair, using anything that he could as an anchor to the last traces of stability that he still possessed.

For the first time in a week, he was actually grateful for his inability to sleep. He could have passed out right then, otherwise. The recollection of his fatigue had him aware of where they were, who else was in the room. As much as he would have liked, it wasn't just the two of them. Pressing a few soft kisses to the side of Yylfordt's neck, he lifted his head, and let out a sharp breath.

"Granz," he said, his voice hardly louder than a whisper. Grimmjow's hand moved along smooth skin, his fingers curling beneath the thin metal around Yylfordt's throat. His body focused on the older of the brothers, even as his eyes glanced sidelong to the Octava. "Get this shit off him."

.

Szayel watched the entire scene play out with a mixture of disgust and fascination. To see the Sexta brought so low was a potent aphrodisiac, however frightening the implications might have been. Szayel enjoyed the show. It met and reinforced all of his expectations and hypotheses.

The man was truly an idiot to pay so much attention to an underling. It did present certain opportunities though. Not that Szayel would exploit them at the moment. Another time. For now, he was much more interested in sweeping the riff raff out of his laboratory now that they had expended their usefulness.

"Feeling generous, are we? How unusual for you," Szayel said, with a smirk. As if further evidence of his inferiority was necessary.

On another occasion, Szayel might have taken this as an opportunity to toy with the pair a little more. However, he had no desire to come into contact with the Sexta when he was this dirty. Yylfordt was equally tainted by his close proximity, thus rendering him a non-option.

Szayel would make the Sexta utilize the resources available to him instead of wasting his own on the man. So it was that he snapped his fingers, causing both collars to unhinge and drop to the floor.

.

They were so fucking pathetic. But Yylfordt couldn't find it in him to be angry at either Grimmjow or himself. Instead, and contrary to how he would usually feel, he wanted to bolster his Espada's strength. Yylfordt gripped him in desperation as he did his best to hold them both upright. He had been subjected to a hell of a lot, but not quite what he knew Grimmjow had gone though.

Szayel had taken delight in telling Yylfordt all about it. He's fought at first in whatever way he could, but gradually realized that he'd better serve Grimmjow by doing what his asshole brother told him. If Szayel got what he wanted out of it all, he'd have no more use for them.

Yylfordt twitched at hearing his name, but it was the fingers under his collar and what Grimmjow said about it that had his eyes widening. He pulled back enough that he could look the man in the face.

"Grimmjow, you-"

Yylfordt was cut off by Szayel before he could further that reply. A second later and the metal around his neck sprang open and dropped to the floor.

Yylfordt shuddered at the return of his strength.

.

Grimmjow's name on the other man's lips had him returning his stare. Even as the Octava spoke to him, he held his Fracción's gaze. He couldn't guarantee that Szayel would comply. The man really had no reason to indulge them considering the position that he was in. Even so, Grimmjow ventured to keep his eyes soft. It was easy enough, considering the fact that it was a fight to even keep them open. He almost smiled when the collar fell from around Yylfordt's throat, stopping only because of the energy that had begun to pulse through him.

The sensation of his own reiatsu caught him off guard. For a split second, he contemplated why Szayel would release both of them, but dismissed it in an instant. It didn't really fucking matter. If the bastard was stupid enough to give him free reign, who was he to argue?

Grimmjow leaned back enough to begin sliding out of the blond. Grabbing Yylfordt's face in his hands, he lured him closer, kissing him roughly and grunting into his mouth as he pulled out entirely. The friction had him tensing, but he savored it now that he had his strength back. He grudgingly broke the contact and stood, flexing his muscles and rolling his shoulders. There was still an ache that resonated through his body, but it was not overpowering, especially when he had other business to take care of.

Grimmjow grabbed Yylfordt's arm and tugged him to his feet as well. It was the last of his focus on the man for now. He turned to Szayel, his anger flaring with each step towards the other man. His hand was around Szayel's throat before he even knew that he was close enough, and his fingers tightened threateningly.

"Don't fuck with my Fraccion again, you understand?" Though his voice still sounded like more of a harsh whisper, his glare was deadly. Grimmjow raised the other man from the floor, venturing to remain calm even when every part of him wanted to tear the flesh from this man's body. When he felt his nails break through skin, he clenched his teeth.

"Answer me."

.

Szayel looked upon Grimmjow with open amusement even as nails broke his skin and the man all but yelled in his face. Much as he hadn't wanted the Sexta to touch him, he had known it would be an inevitability. As such, he didn't bother moving. By allowing the Sexta his little display of bravado unimpeded, Szayel hoped to teach him a very important lesson.

His smile was wide.

"Did you know that the number eight is widely regarded as a symbol for eternity?" Szayel paused to run a hand through his hair, the other dangling unconcerned at his side. He let out a dramatic sigh. "No? Mmm…well, now you do."

Szayel's sense of aesthetics kept him where he was. He didn't care in the least how the others viewed him. He could have killed them all in an instant if he had really wanted to. It was only the fact that his fellow Espada were useful to him in other ways which prevented him from following through.

Szayel slipped a hand down and then up the arm holding his throat. He massaged muscles as he went.

"I trust you _do_ know that what is freely given can just as easily be taken away though, hmm?" It was Aizen's creed, if anything. They were all aware of it. But only Szayel could profess the same level of achievement where this was concerned.

.

Yylfordt kept Grimmjow's stare because he had no idea what the fuck to do otherwise. It was a damn good thing that Grimmjow got his reiatsu back at almost the same instant and began to take advantage of that fact. Yylfordt might hate himself for it later if he thought too hard about it, but he melted into the kiss. With energy thrumming in his veins for the first time in days, he could hardly help himself.

Then Grimmjow was on his feet and pulling him up too. Yylfordt stumbled after him before he managed to right himself. In that instant, Grimmjow had already grabbed Szayel by the throat.

Yylfordt watched the exchange with a sneer. How he wanted to see that slimy, pompous fuck all strung out. Even better if it was Grimmjow to do it. At least then he could watch the show with some kind of pride. But what Szayel was saying was sinking in. It wasn't good.

Yylfordt paled. He caught Grimmjow's arm, the one that was holding his asshole brother.

"Don't. Let's just…let's just _go_," he said. Not like he was trying to give Grimmjow orders or anything. Yylfordt knew better than that, and he hoped Grimmjow would recognize it. He'd never tried to put the man off a fight before, after all. Yylfordt lived for bloodshed. One of many reasons Grimmjow had earned and kept his respect.

Yylfordt also knew Szayel better than anyone. He didn't know how it would happen, but they would both be in deep shit if this went any further.

.

Grimmjow maintained his predatory stare while Szayel preached. He didn't care what the other man was saying; he hadn't heard an answer to his question, and that was all that mattered. Mimicking his entire body, his fingers tightened. Before he could speak, Yylfordt's hand was on him, and with it, Szayel's words suddenly registered.

He was never one to give up a fight. And the thought of bringing down the scientist in his grasp was more than tempting. But Szayel's words were now ringing in his ears and they had him reconsidering. The week that he had spent alone had been Hell, and the thought of enduring it again made his stomach turn. Even so, he was an Espada and he could deal with it. It was the hand on his arm that had his teeth grinding. Yylfordt was his responsibility, for what now appeared to be more than one reason, and while his Fracción were meant to serve him, he couldn't risk it. It took everything in him to throw Szayel aside, his raging reiatsu focused solely on the Octava.

"Fuckin' leave him alone." Grimmjow let the warning hang in the air for a moment before turning, grabbing Yylfordt's hand, and stalking out of the lab.

His pulse was heavy in his ears. His reiatsu throbbed with each step. By the time they reached his room, his breath had picked up. And the moment he slammed the door shut, he had Yylfordt pinned against it.

Rough hands moved mercilessly over skin, pressing, gripping, savoring the feel of the other man now that he possessed the energy to do so. Grimmjow sucked at the pulse on Yylfordt's neck before biting, and he growled into the touch. He couldn't help himself. His customary fervor had returned full force. When his hips began to rock, he had to force himself to pull away.

"C'mere." Grimmjow only met the other man's eyes for a brief moment, and then he was moving towards his bathroom. He didn't drag Yylfordt with him, assuming that the blond craved a shower as desperately as he was.

The Sexta stepped behind the glass wall and turned the water on, standing underneath as it heated up. The warmth was exactly what he needed. His muscles loosened beneath the spray as steam began to rise around him.

.

The regard Grimmjow was showing him had Yylfordt genuinely…well, something. He wasn't one to explore his 'emotions' or any of that other weak shit that some of the others did. Better not to think or worry about all that.

Yylfordt was relieved when Grimmjow decided to take his advice. Not that he showed it. He followed Grimmjow back to his room where he was surprised to find the man still wanted more. Yylfordt responded to each caress in kind, moaning when the Espada sucked and bit at him.

Then the man pulled back, leaving Yylfordt a panting mess against the door. He stayed there, only moving when he had recovered enough. Yylfordt climbed into the shower behind him. He enjoyed the warm spray, but more than that, the sight of Grimmjow's firm, muscular body. This man wanted him, seemed to prize him. It was intoxicating. Yylfordt moved closer. He wanted more too.

He grabbed a sponge. After wetting it, he began to trail it down Grimmjow's back.

.

Grimmjow was glad when the other man joined him in the shower. Despite his arousal, he was already relaxing under the hot water, something that he had been bereft of over the past week. His muscles loosening almost made him tired from everything that had happened, everything that he had been put through, but he wasn't so exhausted that he would pass up sex. He had at least one more round in him before his fatigue caught up. At least now he could finally sleep.

His body was conflicted, torn between wanting to relish the tranquility that rained down upon him or utilize his strength and take Yylfordt with all that remained of his energy. At the sponge against his skin, he let out a sigh. Grimmjow had promised before he left that he would fuck the blond senseless, and he still had every intention of following through. He could spare one night to savor the attention; he needed it after the shit he had endured.

Resting his forearms on the wall, Grimmjow pushed back against the touch, letting his head fall forward beneath the warm spray of water.

.

Yylfordt continued to wipe down Grimmjow's back, sending all the dirt and grime down to puddle at their feet until it washed down the drain. It was odd and he couldn't fully explain to himself why he was doing it, just that he knew it was right. When Grimmjow's back was done, Yylfordt continued with his ass and legs. He then leaned in so that they were flush against each other and wrapped an arm around Grimmjow so he could wash his chest.

Yylfordt leaned his chin on Grimmjow's shoulder to better see what he was doing as he drew soapy circles on Grimmjow's flesh with the sponge.

.

Grimmjow's head joined his arms in resting against the wall as Yylfordt worked the soap into his skin. He was leaning into the caresses, his breathing slow, and fighting himself to stay calm even though his entire body wanted more. When the other man pressed up against his back, he grunted in satisfaction.

The massaging along his chest and stomach was more than welcome. He arched his back. Grimmjow was somewhat surprised by the chin on his shoulder, and he cocked his head to regard the blond with half-lidded eyes. There was a part of him that wanted to say something, but then he was rolling his hips back against Yylfordt and his head dropped again with a rough moan.

.

That ass grinding against him had Yylfordt's breathing picking up along with his cock. He thought about it. Really, _really_ thought of what it would be like to bend Grimmjow over and fuck him for once. But that would never happen and he knew it. Still, it was much easier to think about this than the fact their eyes had met. He didn't know what Grimmjow was thinking anymore than he could figure out his own thoughts.

Yylfordt continued to wash Grimmjow until all the dirt was gone. He paid special attention to the man's stomach, sweeping the sponge _just so_ against the rim of his Hollow hole. When it was done, he knew what he had to do. Yylfordt sank to his knees, trailing kisses along Grimmjow's body as he went.

.

Grimmjow bit back the moan that was fighting to escape from his throat at the press of Yylfordt's cock against him. He couldn't risk letting the other man see him falter, especially after the weakened state he had arrived in. At least before he could use the collar as an excuse for his steady actions. Now, his motions were actually _his motions_, though he dismissed that thought before it stuck. When Yylfordt knelt down behind him, Grimmjow cocked his head in an effort to see what the other man was doing.

"Hey," he started, clearing his throat. He reached back to run a hand through Yylfordt's hair. "What the Hell?"

Grimmjow turned and tugged on the hair beneath his fingers, hauling Yylfordt back up to his feet. He disregarded the man in front of him to grab the bottle of soap, squeezing some of it out onto his hands which he then rubbed together. His eyes raised as he reached out and began massaging the soap into the other man's skin, his fingers working over Yylfordt's neck and collarbone, before sliding lower to knead circles against Yylfordt's chest.

Grimmjow couldn't help the slight scowl on his face. "You gonna go back to ignoring me now that no one's looking?" His fingers pressed harder, moved lower to rub against Yylfordt's stomach. "I wanna fuck and you get on yer knees?"

His hands slipped fluidly with the lather to settle on the Fracción's hips, Grimmjow's fingers gripping against Yylfordt's ass. Pushing Yylfordt back against the wall, beneath the spray of hot water, Grimmjow rested his hands either side of the other man, blocking him in and keeping him in place with his own lower body.

"If I'm fuckin' you, I want you to look me in the eye."

.

Of all the things that could have happened, this one surprised him the most. Although it really should not have. For a moment, as Grimmjow hauled him to his feet by his _goddamn hair_, Yylfordt froze.

He'd been fooling himself all along. This was…Grimmjow had just been having an off week or something. It had just been a joke, or maybe an experiment or something similar.

Yylfordt was afraid. He didn't want to go back to the way things were.

It was only the way Grimmjow began massaging him with soap that snapped him out of it. He relaxed and closed his eyes. If Grimmjow had wanted him in the past, he would have had him pressed face first against the wall by now. He wouldn't have bothered washing him first.

Yylfordt opened his eyes when Grimmjow spoke again.

"I didn't mean it like that." He'd wanted to do something nice for him. Yylfordt felt pretty stupid now that he thought about it. He hated that feeling. Heat began to creep up his neck.

He shivered at those hands on his ass and arched into the touch. Then his back hit the wall as Grimmjow shoved him into it. Water sprayed over them both. It pushed his hair into his face. He brushed it aside, almost missing what Grimmjow said next.

Again, Yylfordt froze, his breath hitching in his throat. This time because it was just such a relief. He'd still blame the flush that was now creeping onto his face on the water or his previous anger at himself though.

Yylfordt did meet and keep his gaze because honestly he couldn't have done anything else, nor did he want to.

"I am. I will. Fuck me, Grimmjow. I want you too," he said, after a moment. Yylfordt's breathing picked up a little more as he raised a leg and wrapped it around Grimmjow's waist. His hands trailed down the man's side as well, but he never broke their eye contact.

.

The last thing that he wanted to see was that look of apprehension. Grimmjow was honestly surprised by the way Yylfordt behaved. Even when he was fucking the man before any of this had happened, he never got responses like this one. Normally, the blond just ignored him or talked shit. But this was something entirely different. And the Sexta couldn't be sure what shook him more: the fact that Yylfordt reacted the way that he did, or the fact that his reaction was affecting Grimmjow as much as it was.

He was relieved that Yylfordt finally said something, but the words had Grimmjow's stomach turning. His expression softened. He didn't want to go backwards after the progress they had made, and he had done what he thought was the best in order to convey that. Grimmjow would have responded, had he known what the fuck to say. But the request and his name coming from the other man's lips had his desire raging, and he put his mouth to better use.

When his lips met Yylfordt's, Grimmjow's muscles tightened. He wanted, more than anything, to satisfy his craving for the other man. In that moment, nothing else was important. His tongue slipped against Yylfordt's and his breathing picked up; his hands moved from the wall to grip again at the man's waist, over his hips, lower until he was grabbing at the backs of the blond's thighs, pulling him up and against himself.

He drew back to meet the Fracción's eyes, Grimmjow's own flashing brightly with a renewed energy. "I just want you like this."

He breathed out a deep growl as he slid inside, flashing his teeth at the man before moving in again for another kiss.

.

Yylfordt thought he saw something strange in Grimmjow's gaze, but he dismissed it. Just in time, as the man leaned in to kiss him. Yylfordt returned it with equal fervor. He wrapped his arms around Grimmjow's neck to hold himself up as the other man explored his body.

Yylfordt made a noise of dissent as Grimmjow pulled away. What the man said had his flush becoming even more apparent. Yylfordt might have cursed himself for being so weak in the past. But it was okay now. He could see that. Grimmjow had just said it.

Yylfordt swallowed. He'd never felt this…open? Good? Whatever the case, it was the only time in his memory that he'd allowed himself to be this fucking vulnerable. In a way, he hated himself for it. But the vast majority of his psyche was occupied with one thing: the fact that he _wanted_ to please the man in front of him. That it made him-

"Happy. Kiss me, dammit." Grimmjow's lips were on his own and the man was sliding inside almost before he finished speaking. Yylfordt didn't pause to question his little slip or even to consider what it meant. He wrapped his legs around Grimmjow's body and threw himself into the kiss, moaning as the other man filled him.

.

Grimmjow had no idea what the other man was talking about, but he loved the sound of his voice, especially when Yylfordt was saying the demanding things that he was. He interrupted anything else, kissing the blond roughly and grunting into the embrace.

He could get very used to this. The feeling of Yylfordt wound around him was fairly new, but it was already one of his favorite aspects of their relationship. It felt wonderful having the man's limbs tightly wrapped around his neck and his waist, pulling him closer, maintaining their connection. Not that Grimmjow would have backed off otherwise, but it was comforting to be wanted in that way, by this man, after everything that had happened between them. The thought had his hips moving, his thrusts coming quicker now.

When his breathing picked up, the Sexta moved closer, pressing Yylfordt even tighter against the wet shower wall. It helped somewhat with his own stability. Grimmjow's hips continued to rock and he broke the kiss to catch his breath, leaning back in almost immediately to breathe heavily against the other man's mouth before nipping at his lips. With each thrust, his mouth slipped over wet skin, Yylfordt's jaw, his ear, his neck, his collarbone, and Grimmjow's touch was accompanied by the other man's name escaping in harsh whispers from his throat.

.

Yylfordt began moaning in earnest as Grimmjow picked up the pace. He chest heaved. His back was being rubbed pleasantly raw by tiles as Grimmjow rocked into him. Yylfordt fought to contain himself. His entire body shuddered as the other man pierced him again and again. His moans became continuous, alternating with Grimmjow's name after the man pulled back and began to suck and bite at him.

As was becoming typical, he wanted to touch every part of Grimmjow's body and make it his. The fact that he couldn't had a low whine building in his throat. Grimmjow subdued it for him with an especially powerful thrust, which had his breath hitching.

Yylfordt did what he could. He leaned in and kissed and sucked on whatever he could of Grimmjow's flesh. He started at the man's cheek and ended by sucking on his ear.

.

The noises falling from Yylfordt's lips were causing Grimmjow to hasten his movements, especially when that mouth was against his ear. Hot breath spread over the side of his neck and he growled against the blond's shoulder, biting down and then licking over the marks that his teeth had left.

Grimmjow was already giving everything that he could, and taking just as much, but he still wanted more. He brought his head up and leaned his upper body back just slightly, glancing down to watch himself slip between the other man's legs. His fingers moved to dig into the skin of Yylfordt's hips, and he was certain that he was leaving bruises, but he maintained his hold, keeping their bodies together and bringing Yylfordt against him every time that he thrust up.

Dipping his head again, he licked along Yylfordt's throat. One of his hands was begrudgingly letting go, while the other moved around to press against the small of Yylfordt's back, and he was glad that he had the support of the wall to keep the blond in place. As he kissed back up his Fracción's neck, his free hand snaked between them to thumb against skin, tugging on a nipple, and then slipping lower, over the muscles in Yylfordt's stomach. Grimmjow captured the other man's lips again when his fingers wrapped around Yylfordt's cock and began to pump, and he drove himself deeper, his thrusts coming quickly.

.

Yylfordt's toes curled against Grimmjow's ass when the man picked up the pace yet again. Breath was torn from his throat in ragged gasps. Yylfordt didn't want to pull away, but he couldn't help it with the way Grimmjow was touching him. His head smashed back against the wall, his horn gouging a tile loose to shatter against the floor of the bath.

Yylfordt moaned into Grimmjow's mouth as their lips met once more. He might have protested the fact he wouldn't be able to last long like this, but that would require pulling back. It was not something Yylfordt wanted to do. Instead, he let his body do the talking for him. Yylfordt's grip tightened around Grimmjow's neck and waist as his moans took on an undertone of increasing urgency.

.

Grimmjow laughed roughly into the kiss when the tile broke on the floor at their feet. He hadn't even thought about the damage that the other man's mask could do, but it didn't bother him. If anything, he was impressed. He'd have to try and get the Fracción to unconsciously tear open his pillows after this.

He couldn't help it when his movements hurried even more. It was obvious that the blond was reaching his limit, and Grimmjow's own was drawing nearer with each forceful thrust. He pulled back, teeth tugging on the other man's bottom lip, and his thumb pressed over the head of Yylfordt's cock. His hand was moving in time to his rocking hips, faster and more fervent with each thrust.

Grimmjow's muscles tightened. His free hand settled on the wall, fingers gripping uselessly against the tile for support, and a low groan passed between his lips. He nipped at Yylfordt's jaw, his breath heavy against the side of the other man's face. "C'mon, Yylfordt," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

Raising his head, he met the man's eyes. "For me."

.

Yylfordt's entire world narrowed. Grimmjow pistoning into him would have been enough. The fact that he was also fisting Yylfordt's cock was just plain overkill. Every muscle in Yylfordt's body was tensing up so that by the time Grimmjow breathed that command at him, it was all over.

Yylfordt would later tell himself he was just that turned on, that it didn't have anything to do with the way Grimmjow met his gaze. Yylfordt _certainly_ didn't come because he was ordered to. Never in a million fucking years.

At the moment, it didn't matter. Yylfordt's head flew back again. His horn gouging the wall once more as he saw white. His entire body spasmed with him as a strangled noise resembling Grimmjow's name dropped from his lips.

.

The feel of Yylfordt's release against his hand sent a shiver up his spine, but Grimmjow was brought over by the combined sensations of the other man's arms and legs tightening around his neck and waist, and the clenching around his cock. He came with a deep growl, fighting to keep his feet planted firmly on the wet floor, even as the rest of his body tensed. His hips still rocked up into Yylfordt, slowing after a moment of sensitive friction, before he finally stopped himself entirely.

The Sexta put most of his weight on the arm that was holding him up against the shower. His legs were still somewhat shaky, and the pressure from his Fracción's body only added to it. Not that he wanted to let go.

Releasing Yylfordt's cock, Grimmjow raised his hand to lick the traces of the other man from between his fingers. He couldn't help the satisfied grunt that escaped from his throat as he sucked each digit between his lips.

When he finally felt secure enough, he steadily slid himself out of the blond, shuddering as he withdrew completely. Grimmjow licked his lips, both of his hands moving to hold Yylfordt's thighs, and he thumbed circles into the skin there.

.

If Yylfordt could have come again so soon, the sensation of Grimmjow's release filling him would have done it. The added pressure and warmth made him shudder. As before, his head dropped forward for a moment before he righted himself. Grimmjow drew an additional moan from him as he slipped out.

Yylfordt was panting and trying to recover himself as water beat down on his body, dripping from his hair and his mask. He looked up to find that Grimmjow was licking his hand clean and-Yylfordt really, really would hate himself for it later-blushed.

Grimmjow had never done that before, nor would Yylfordt have ever imagined the man doing such a thing. His mouth dropped open and before he could stop himself he was leaning forward. Yylfordt licked Grimmjow's lips and then kissed him in earnest. He enjoyed the taste of himself on the man's tongue for the fact that it was even there in the first place.

.

Grimmjow saw something gleam in the other man's eyes, but before he could question it, Yylfordt kissed him again.

He moaned roughly into the contact, savoring the combined flavors of the other man against his tongue. His fingers unconsciously gripped tighter to Yylfordt's thighs and he had to fight to keep from rocking his hips again.

The Sexta kept up with the tongue against his own, finally halting the embrace to suck on the blond's bottom lip, and letting it slip between his teeth as he drew his head back. Grimmjow eyed him for a moment. He hated to lose the touch, but grudgingly lowered Yylfordt's legs from around his waist; he waited until the Fracción seemed stable enough on his own before sliding his hands up the other man's chest. His hands settled on the Yylfordt's neck, and he lured him closer to kiss him once again.

Pulling back the second time proved even more difficult. But he kept himself occupied, dipping his head to run his tongue along the other man's collarbone, moving lower to lick at Yylfordt's nipple, biting lightly before adjusting to do the same to the other. Grimmjow hummed against skin and followed the lines of muscle further down until he was able to lap at the traces of Yylfordt's release still splattered along his stomach. Aside from the man's cock, which he avoided knowing that Yylfordt was still sensitive, he licked the blond clean.

When he stood back upright, he reached around to turn the water off. Grimmjow contemplated stepping out of the shower, but he wasn't ready to lose the contact. "Fuck," he said, his voice harsh and deep. He pressed a few kisses behind Yylfordt's ear. "Come to bed with me."

.

Grimmjow was not helping him catch his breath. Just the opposite with the way he was treating him. He stood on slightly shaky legs, his chest rising and falling faster with each touch of Grimmjow's hands against his body. Yylfordt leaned into the caress, into the kiss. Yylfordt could imagine how exhausted Grimmjow must have been. He didn't know why the man kept up with it, but he wasn't questioning it.

Yylfordt leaned in again when Grimmjow resumed his ministrations. It was still too early for him, but a few minutes more and he would be aroused again if the man kept it up. He really couldn't believe it when Grimmjow began to lick his torso clean of come. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes…

Yylfordt gripped Grimmjow's arm as the man kissed behind his ear. He shuddered at the sensation of warm breath on his neck. The request wasn't as surprising now, but it was still unfamiliar. Yylfordt reached for the towel hanging over the doors and began to dry Grimmjow's hair.

"Of course I'm coming," he said, his tone a little breathy.

.

Grimmjow leaned into the hands working against his head and fought the urge to moan at the touch. He was somewhat relieved that the blond had yet to discover his weakness for having his scalp rubbed. He indulged himself for a moment, before straightening up and stepping out of the shower, his hand around the other man's wrist to bring him along.

The Espada grabbed another towel from where they hung on the wall and wrapped it around Yylfordt's body, massaging the other man through the cloth as he dried him off. He left the towel on the blond's shoulders while he dried himself, finally letting the fabric fall to the floor and meeting Yylfordt's eyes once more.

If he had the energy, he would have taken the man again right there. And he actually contemplated it for a moment, before allowing his fatigue to triumph.

Grimmjow could hardly stop himself from reaching to grip Yylfordt's arm, ready to drag the man with him to his bed, but he regretted it almost immediately. His fingers were too tight against the other man's skin, and he released his hold quickly. If Yylfordt wanted to come with him, then he would.

Running the towel over his head briefly, the Sexta tossed it to the ground and turned back to the bedroom. If anything, he could blame this on exhaustion. Just the thought had him flopping against the mattress, pressing his face into the pillows and relaxing in the comfort of his bed, the smell of his sheets, the familiarity of it all. He let his eyes fall closed, but Grimmjow would stay awake at least until Yylfordt crawled in next to him.

.

Yylfordt kept rubbing until Grimmjow pulled away. He followed along with ease where he might have resisted with a vengeance in the past. He was a little surprised Grimmjow chose to rub him down, but didn't say anything about this either. If the other man wanted to treat him, then Yylfordt would let him. He wrung out his hair as Grimmjow finished drying him and then met that heavy gaze. Yylfordt's cock twitched, but he knew it wasn't going to happen.

Then Grimmjow's hand was on his arm once again. His fingers dug in enough that Yylfordt knew he'd have bruises later. The only thing that kept Yylfordt from freezing up this time was the great sex they had just had and the fact he knew Grimmjow wasn't ready for more. This wasn't about humiliation. Grimmjow wasn't being an ass. It was something else entirely. Yylfordt's heart seized in his chest for unknown reasons. He ignored it to follow the man to their—to Grimmjow's bed.

He waited until after his Espada flopped down to crawl in beside him. Yylfordt was pretty damn exhausted himself. He'd been in that shithole for almost a week. Yylfordt shuddered at the thought. He leaned in and began placing kisses up Grimmjow's back to ground himself in a better reality. It ended with Yylfordt lying flush against the man's body with his arm wrapped around Grimmjow and his head buried against that warm back.

.

Grimmjow hummed deep in his throat at the mouth against him. When Yylfordt's body was pressed along his own, he let out a sigh and allowed his muscles to loosen completely. He felt genuinely relaxed, and for the first time in a while.

He could feel Yylfordt's breath against his skin. Grimmjow would have loved to take the blond again. Hell, he would have delighted in just making out. But he was already too far gone, from the moment that he lay down, and he owed it to himself to get a decent night's rest; he owed it to Yylfordt to have his full stamina before they went at it again. Grimmjow would make up for it in the morning. For now, he relished the warm body pressed against his own, and let himself drift into a much needed sleep.


	20. Part II: Chapter 13

.

**The Coronation of Self: Part II**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**By: Ryoko & SZP**

Grimmjow stirred in his sleep. He was grateful for the comfort of his own bed, and let himself sink deeper into the mattress. It had been too long since he had slept like this; he didn't want to wake up.

He rolled over, stopping at the body beside him, and his eyes peeled opened just enough to see a blurred outline. He had passed out and had slept so soundly that he completely forgot that the other man was in his bed. Not that he minded.

Wrapping an arm around Yylfordt's waist, he pulled the man closer, breathing deeply at the warmth against his body, and he let his eyelids fall closed once more. Grimmjow was still half asleep, already drifting back into that daze, but he didn't stop himself from nuzzling against Yylfordt's shoulder and pressing his lips against soft, warm skin.

His mouth moved higher, over the blond's neck and jawline, and he breathed slowly against Yylfordt's ear before he opened his mouth slightly to nip at the lobe. Grimmjow's hand massaged over his Fracción's stomach, urging those hips tighter to his own, and he hummed low in his throat.

.

Yylfordt stirred at the arm around his waist, but he wasn't aware of himself until the succeeding kiss. He murmured something or another which was lost in the haze of sleep. Yylfordt's eyes fluttered open as those lips continued to trail up his body. He turned his head with them and whispered Grimmjow's name as he stretched.

And then he was being drawn back against the man. Any semblance of sleep left him at the boner digging into his ass. Yylfordt pressed and then ground himself against it, his cock twitching at the sensation. He turned his head and met Grimmjow's lips as his hand roamed down the man's side.

.

The blond pressing back against his cock only intensified his lust, and when Yylfordt turned to him, Grimmjow was more than ready, pushing back and growling deeply into the embrace. The other man's willingness was something that he still wasn't entirely used to, but he didn't question it. He opened his mouth, his laziness keeping him from rushing things, and kissed Yylfordt slowly, reacquainting his tongue with the heat around it.

His hand strayed over the other man's stomach, thumbing a nipple and rubbing circles into the muscles in his abdomen, before sliding lower to grip at Yylfordt's hip. Grimmjow blamed his drowsiness for the fact that he wasn't fucking the blond yet. But there was something different, though equally arousing, in just being this close to Yylfordt.

.

Yylfordt's cock swelled as the kiss continued and the other man fondled his body. He let out a lazy groan and gripped Grimmjow's side a little harder. He could get pretty fucking used to waking up this way as opposed to disgusting sheets and feelings of shame at being used and thrown away once again. This was actually really nice. Certainly a much better alternative.

Now that he could finally keep his eyes open, Yylfordt let his gaze wander their naked bodies. All too soon and he was fully erect, though he made no move, besides grinding back against Grimmjow, to relieve himself.

.

Grimmjow smirked at the noise from the other man and nipped at Yylfordt's lower lip. While it surprised him, he could have spent a good deal of time like this. But the fingers in his side had him aware of the blond's desires, and the grinding against him made him even more conscious of his own.

Pulling away from the other man's mouth, he shifted to kiss and lick along Yylfordt's jaw and neck. The hand that had been wrapped around the other man slid higher to press against a shoulder, and he pushed Yylfordt down on his stomach. Grimmjow kept up his teasing caresses as he moved to straddle him, his lips following the man's spine and then out along his sides. He sat up. Rough hands kneaded the skin of Yylfordt's back, and the Espada rolled his hips, breathing deeper at the contact.

.

Yylfordt squashed his urge to gasp as Grimmjow paid attention to his throat. He might have liked it, but that didn't mean he wanted to show it _all the time_. Actually, he did. And that was the…problem? Issue? Whatever the case, Yylfordt needed…he needed…

Yylfordt offered no resistance as he was rolled onto his stomach. He might have asked what Grimmjow was doing if the man wasn't so good at distracting him. Yylfordt shuddered at the searing line of Grimmjow's cock as the man rubbed it against him. His breathing picked up a little bit. This was to his disadvantage due to the position he was currently in.

.

It had been a while since he had the other man in this position. And his head was quickly flooded by his needs. Every slide of his cock against that ass had his breath picking up and his drowsiness leaving him all the more.

Grimmjow held himself up on his hands, lowering his head to lick and kiss at Yylfordt's shoulder blades. He moved back with each press of his lips to skin, rubbing himself against Yylfordt's lower back and then down along the curve of his ass, where he settled. He rocked his hips and hummed at the friction.

"You asleep again?" he asked in between kisses, his voice rough from lack of use, and he bit down teasingly on Yylfordt's side.

..

Yylfordt could definitely get used to this. With each press of Grimmjow's lips to his skin, he found himself becoming more aroused. He couldn't get enough of the man. Which was a complete fucking reversal from how he felt before, and one that still didn't make complete sense to him.

"Hell no," he said, his voice a little breathy. Yylfordt lifted his hips and tantalized Grimmjow's cock with his body as he looked over his shoulder and met the man's gaze.

.

Grimmjow couldn't help the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips with the other man's response. And he didn't bother trying to hide it when Yylfordt turned to look at him either. The blond's brusque personality was something that used to drive him crazy. But hearing it again now, after not experiencing it for the past few days, was somewhat of a relief. He would never admit it, but there was a brief moment where he worried that the man had lost all of his audacity because of what had happened to him.

He put the thought behind him and moved back again, settling between Yylfordt's legs. His hands rubbed up and over the blond's calves, massaging the skin of his thighs, and finally coming to rest on his ass. Grimmjow gripped the flesh beneath his hands and pulled Yylfordt open.

"Good," he said, flashing the man a glance.

He lowered his head and gave one long, slow lick across Yylfordt's entrance, and then he was sitting up and rolling his hips forward to slide himself against the same skin. Grimmjow met Yylfordt's eyes and his breath hitched before picking up as he slid just the head of his cock inside.

.

Yylfordt smirked right back at Grimmjow even as the man settled between his legs. The only thing that knocked it off his face was when the man spread him. Yylfordt looked forward for a moment so Grimmjow wouldn't notice his excitement. The tongue assaulting him had Yylfordt turning to look again as he shuddered. Yylfordt never thought the day would come when he'd find Grimmjow pleasuring him like that. If he hadn't already been fully erect, he would have been now.

Yylfordt trembled as Grimmjow began to slide inside. He groaned, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight of their joining.

.

Grimmjow looked down to watch himself as he pushed deeper, unconsciously holding his breath until he was fully enveloped. He held himself there for a minute, rolling his hips slightly, but not puling out just yet. Yylfordt felt overwhelmingly good around him, and he wanted to savor that sensation for as long as he could.

When he finally started to withdraw, it was unhurried, his hips backing up steadily. Grimmjow's hands slid up Yylfordt's sides and back, stopping to knead his shoulders; then they drifted lower again and he was thumbing circles into the small of the man's back.

The Sexta pulled out almost entirely, letting out a rough breath. He raised his eyes to Yylfordt's and then drove himself forward. Grimmjow kept up with his slow pace, moving with long, languid thrusts that had him pressing deeper. A low grunt escaped his throat, and he bit his lip.

.

Watching Grimmjow push his way inside was one of the most erotic things Yylfordt had ever witnessed. He couldn't tear his eyes off the man. A low moan started in his throat and built to something much louder as Grimmjow filled him. He hardly noticed whatever else the man was doing, only that he was fucking Yylfordt hard and _slow_.

His breath hitched as he rocked forward on the mattress. Yylfordt fought not to push back against the man, held his breath to prevent it even.

.

It was proving more difficult with each motion to keep himself at a steady pace. But Grimmjow held on to the fact that it felt so good, that _Yylfordt_ felt so good, and kept up his slow movements.

The noise from the other man had Grimmjow's muscles tensing, and he gave a sharper thrust.

"Feel okay?" he asked, a teasing arrogance in his tone.

His hands rubbed over Yylfordt's sides. Though his motions remained steady, he jerked his hips roughly every now and then when he couldn't help himself. Grimmjow's fingers gripped against the other man's waist, and he raised him slightly from the bed and back to meet each of his movements forward.

.

That harder thrust made Yylfordt suck in a breath. He decided to stop fighting it and really did push back against Grimmjow until his body touched the man's abdomen. With the way Grimmjow was raising him up, he could hardly help it.

"Of course I do," he said, after a long pause, his smirk matching his tone. Yylfordt's body was thrumming with pleasure, so much so that he wondered how he had ever gone without it. This had to be a necessity now. And he could picture himself with no one else but the arrogant, sexy man pounding into him right now. The fact that Grimmjow didn't seem to want anyone else either only made it better. Yylfordt was worth fucking, worth more than Szayel, even.

A bead of sweat rolled down his back as he considered this victory.

.

Grimmjow watched the other man, who seemed to be in a world of his own, and gave another jarring thrust to knock him out of it. With the depth and the heat around him, accompanied by the fact that Yylfordt was pushing back, the quick motion was enough to make him groan. He gripped tighter to the other man's hips and rolled his own forward, driving harder and slightly faster.

It was Yylfordt's voice, his smirk, that had Grimmjow's breath hitching. Resting his hands on either side of the blond, he lowered himself flush against the other man's back, pressing his lips along the skin of Yylfordt's shoulders, biting at the nape of his neck. The shift pulled him deeper and it lured a low grunt from the Sexta.

"Fuck." His breath fell roughly against skin, and he distracted himself by licking along the side of Yylfordt's throat, teeth moving to tug on the man's ear when his hips jerked just a bit more forcefully.

.

Yylfordt leaned back into the heat and friction of Grimmjow's body against his own. He was panting now, his breath coming in short gasps as the other man pounded into him. Yylfordt shuddered at the increase in the speed and depth of Grimmjow's thrusts, his body rocking with every impact.

He turned his head to offer more of his neck to Grimmjow. That voice so hot and heavy in his ear had Yylfordt groaning. He turned his head back so that he could meet the man's lips in what he hoped wasn't too needy a way. Yet if it was, he'd never fucking admit it anyway.

.

Grimmjow's movements remained unhurried and deep, but he was rapidly losing focus. He had wanted to stay steady, to bring Yylfordt over with him by taking him slowly; the other man's noises and his own desires were outweighing his initial craving for a leisurely fuck.

He was sucking on the pulse along Yylfordt's neck when the man turned. Their lips met, and Grimmjow grunted roughly, humming into the embrace while he slowed his hips to match with the slide of his tongue against the other man's. The kiss was all that it took for him to disregard his previous plans. He grudgingly pulled away from Yylfordt's mouth to push himself up onto his hands again.

Grimmjow hurried now that he had the support to properly speed up. Letting his head fall forward, he mouthed along the shell of his Fracción's ear, panting at the friction from the man around him. "Shit, Yyl…" He straightened his arms to look down at the blond, and his thrusts became rougher until he was rocking Yylfordt into the mattress beneath them.

.

It occurred to Yylfordt that it didn't really matter how hard or fast Grimmjow fucked him. He loved it all the same. In the past, he would have rebelled against the very idea. He wasn't a whore like his brother, and for t_hat man_ least of all. Yet here he was loving every second of it, relishing the feel of the body inside and against his own precisely because it was Grimmjow. It didn't make any sense. None of it made any sense. But Yylfordt couldn't find it in himself to care.

Yylfordt moaned into the kiss and actually fucking closed his eyes. It wasn't until Grimmjow was pulling away that he realized he had done it, and then it didn't matter as Grimmjow began fucking him in earnest. Yylfordt began moaning with every thrust. These sharp, short little noises escaped his throat to the staccato beat of flesh against flesh. It worsened with Grimmjow's close proximity and with the way he was panting in Yylfordt's ear.

Grimmjow picked up the pace even more, but it was the sound of his cut off name that brought Yylfordt that much closer to his release. What happened next came as naturally to him as his own heartbeat.

"Fuck, Grimm. _Fuck_. I can't…" He would have killed anyone else for daring something like that, just as he knew Grimmjow would. But this was different somehow. It felt right. It felt right and he was going with it. He didn't even have to think about that one.

Yylfordt's hands balled in the sheets as he came a few moments later while moaning Grimmjow's name.

.

Grimmjow panted as his hips jerked harder. The noises that Yylfordt was making had him groaning low in his throat. He wanted, with everything inside of him, to hold on to that moment, to those sounds, to the man saying his name like that, for just a little bit longer. But when the blond tensed and moaned beneath him, he let his head fall forward. His teeth sunk into the skin of the other man's shoulder as he pounded aggressively, tasting blood just before giving in to his own release.

He held himself up for a minute afterward, listening to his own ragged breaths as he came down from his high. Dipping his head, the Espada ran his tongue along Yylfordt's spine, back to bite mark that was now beginning to bruise. Grimmjow pulled out slowly. He stopped breathing for the time that it took, and groaned when he had slipped out completely.

Moving off of the other man, Grimmjow rolled over onto his back, running a hand over his forehead and the sweat that had started to bead there. He turned his head to look at Yylfordt, shifting onto his side so that he could smooth his hand over the skin of the man's back. He stared at the blond for a moment, and was struck with something in the pit of his stomach that he didn't understand.

Grimmjow's breathing was still heavy when he opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. The hand on Yylfordt's back gripped slightly. "I…uh." His voice was rough and had him clearing his throat. "…Fuck."

Before he could stop himself, he was holding the side of Yylfordt's neck and bringing himself closer. He pressed his lips to the other man's and cursed himself for seeming so desperate. Grimmjow didn't know how he felt and he especially didn't know how word it, and so he simply didn't give himself the chance to talk.

.

Yylfordt didn't normally get off from pain or any of that weird shit, like his brother. But right now, with Grimmjow's teeth buried in his shoulder, he could understand it a whole lot better. Before he would have balked at the idea of Grimm _claiming_ him with a mark but now it was kind of reassuring. For whatever reason.

Yylfordt shivered as the other man pulled out. He buried his face in the sheets, his breath heavy even as he sought to recover it. Yylfordt didn't move when Grimmjow touched him again, but he did let out an appreciative murmur. He only lifted his head when Grimmjow started to speak. Yylfordt raised a brow.

Soon enough they were kissing again and he forgot all about it. Yylfordt turned so that he was facing the man and wrapped an arm around his chest, drawing him close. It was like he couldn't get enough of Grimmjow, as if he _needed_ him to live or some shit. Yylfordt felt like an idiot for thinking something like that, but he couldn't help it.

.

Grimmjow really loved kissing Yylfordt more than he would ever admit. It was a shame that it took him so long to realize how fucking great it could be, but that was all behind him now. The only thing that concerned him at the moment was the other man and how good he felt.

The Sexta was torn. There was a part of him that wanted to stay in bed like this all day, to keep the blond tightly against him, the way that they were now. His hand slipped down to the small of Yylfordt's back and he pressed their bodies closer, humming into the other man's mouth as he did so. The other part of Grimmjow was ready to go again. He wanted Yylfordt everywhere and in every way. He had still been trying to slow his breathing from only moments ago, but instead it was picking up again with his thoughts. He gripped at Yylfordt's thigh, and brought the other man's knee up around his waist.

He felt an overwhelming consideration for what the blond wanted, and it would have confused him if he wasn't sure that they both wanted the same thing. Grimmjow sucked on Yylfordt's bottom lip, letting it slide between his teeth, and opened his eyes.

"I promised I'd fuck you until you couldn't move," he said, his voice rough and lazy. He couldn't help the smirk that pulled at the corner of his lips. "You still up for it?"

.

Yylfordt leaned into Grimmjow as he massaged the man's tongue with his own. Their slow, sensual kiss continued even as the other man grabbed his thigh and pulled his leg up. Then Grimmjow was pulling back to mouth those words to him. Yylfordt groaned both at what he was saying and at the slide of hot flesh against his own.

He hadn't forgotten it. Shit, no. The fact that Grimmjow wanted to fuck him into oblivion was such a big ego boost. But, more than that, Yylfordt found that he really did crave the man, his body, everything. The idea of another fuck so soon, which would have had him gnashing his teeth in the past, now did nothing but make his cock start to swell between their bodies.

"How the hell could I say no to that?" Yylfordt lifted his leg so that it wrapped around Grimmjow's body along with his arm. He ground himself against the man and shuddered.

.

Grimmjow almost laughed at the other man's words. If he had let himself think about it for longer, he would have been surprised that this was the same man who used to talk shit to him every time he wanted a fuck. And as much as those arguments used to turn him on, having Yylfordt like this, willing and wanting it just as desperately as the Espada himself, was even more erotic.

He gripped tighter to the blond's thigh and rolled his hips a bit, humming at the sensation of the warm body against him. Leaning in, he kissed Yylfordt again, every slip of his tongue mimicking the way his cock slid against the other man.

Grimmjow's hand moved up to angle Yylfordt's chin higher, and he broke away from the man's mouth to lick and nip over his jaw and throat. He settled on the side of Yylfordt's neck, sucking on the pulse point there as his fingers drifted lower once more to pull their lower bodies together again, his hips grinding.

"Good," he groaned against skin, before biting down roughly. "'Cause I'm gonna fuckin' ravage you."

Grimmjow pulled back, pressing a quick kiss to Yylfordt's lips again, and then distancing himself enough to look the man in the eye. He used his own legs to flip the blond onto his back, taking his arms and pinning them up above his head as he straddled his Fracción's waist. He eyed the other man for a moment, drinking in the sight of him like this. After that, all of his movements became more harsh. His reiatsu was pulsing now that he was becoming more awake and aware, and to see Yylfordt in this position only heightened that familiar sense of dominance. He made his way over Yylfordt's collar and chest, leaving bite marks and wet trails of his tongue as he moved lower.

.

Yylfordt shuddered again when Grimmjow began grinding their bodies together as they kissed once more. He was so hot for Yylfordt. Yeah, it really did do a lot for his ego even still. But more importantly, he needed to feel _more_ of the other man. Yylfordt was massaging Grimmjow's back with his hand and savoring the feel of working muscles beneath his fingers when the Espada spoke again.

Yylfordt couldn't help the moan that slipped out, nor did he want to.

He would have objected so hardcore to the position in the past because Grimmjow would just have been trying to humiliate him. Now it only made his breath hitch in his chest.

Yylfordt swallowed back another moan at the sight of Grimmjow looking down at him like that. He knew exactly what it meant and oh, how he fucking wanted it. It didn't matter that he'd just had some because it would never be enough. He was sure of that now.

Yylfordt arched into the touches. He didn't mind at all that there would be marks. He wanted everything to show. Yylfordt would wear it with pride, because Grimmjow wanted him and no one else. For once, it wasn't entirely about power. He might not have been able to guess at his own motivation, but that didn't matter.

Yylfordt couldn't tear his eyes from Grimmjow's head. That man's tongue alone…

.

Grimmjow couldn't help himself. And even if he could, that wouldn't have stopped him. There was never enough when it came to his desires, and that fact was heightened tenfold when it was with this man. If it didn't feel so fucking good, he might have considered what he was doing, he might have given each of his actions a bit more consideration or made sure to keep himself in line. But there was no fear of appearing weak; there was no concern that he would come across as any less powerful than he truly was. Yylfordt had seen him at his lowest already, and perhaps that was why it was easier to show this side of himself now.

His hands let go of Yylfordt's wrists, his fingers following the man's arms down to his chest and over his stomach. His mouth slipped lower as well, until he had backed up enough to settle between the other man's legs. Blue eyes followed the path that his lips and tongue had just taken, back up until he was meeting Yylfordt's stare. Grimmjow held his gaze, even as he lowered his head to breathe over the blond's cock, passing it completely to sink his teeth into the inside of his Fracción's thigh. The Espada pulled back just before he broke through skin, and then he was licking over the imprints that his bite had left.

The hot slide of his tongue slipped higher and he pressed a kiss to the other man's hip. He gripped at the backs of Yylfordt's thighs. Grimmjow taunted him, meeting his eyes in between the playful nips of his teeth and flicks of his tongue, every press of his lips bringing him closer to Yylfordt's cock until he was backing off to leave his mark on the flesh around it. He laughed roughly against skin and kept up his teasing actions.

.

There was one thing that was becoming abundantly clear about Grimmjow now that Yylfordt wanted it too. The man was a tease, and a big one at that. Yylfordt's fingers fisted in the sheets as his cock twitched against his stomach with every move that Grimmjow was making.

"Goddamn tease." Yylfordt could swear he had said the exact same thing to the man not too long ago.

He wanted to do something, but more than that he wished Grimmjow would just touch him already.

.

The words had Grimmjow smirking against skin. He spread the other man open slightly and bit down into Yylfordt's inner thigh, feeling as the flesh broke open under the pressure from his teeth. He sucked at the blood and gave a satisfied grunt at the taste.

The other man's responses to his touch were exactly what he had been waiting for. He let go of Yylfordt's legs, raising his head to meet the man's eyes as he ran his tongue over his lower lip. Grimmjow couldn't help his grin as he backed off and stood from the bed. Just the sight of Yylfordt spread out on the mattress had his breath picking up. It was tempting to crawl back over the blond and take him again right there.

After allowing himself the pleasure of looking over the other man's body, Grimmjow met his gaze again.

"C'mere," he said, a few of his fingers flicking to accompany the command. There was a familiar dominance in his tone that had him clearing his throat, and he left his arm outstretched to appear less intimidating.

.

Yylfordt's back arched from the bed at the rough treatment. The corresponding bite on his neck throbbed as fresh blood slid down his thigh. He didn't like this sort of shit normally, but somehow it was okay that Grimmjow had done it. Anyone else would have gotten a fist to the face.

He really couldn't believe the roving stare either. Such a goddamn tease.

Yylfordt faltered when Grimmjow beckoned for him. It was a quick animalistic movement, but there nonetheless. He shook it off with as much ease and was sauntering to Grimmjow's side with a smirk soon after.

"What did you have in mind?"

.

Grimmjow hadn't expected Yylfordt to take his hand, but that didn't stop him from grabbing the other man's.

"Wait," he said, his fingers gripping a bit more roughly.

It was the only response that he offered before he was swinging the door open and making his way into the hall, dragging Yylfordt along with him. If he didn't follow through with this soon, they would never leave the bedroom: it was already hard enough to refrain from forcing the blond down once more onto the mattress. His hold on the other man's hand was firm and he hardly noticed that he had threaded his fingers through Yylfordt's as he stalked through the corridor. The Espada was letting his reiatsu out in spurts with every step. He wanted to make the rest of his subordinates aware of his presence. By the time they reached the large common room at the end of the hallway, his energy was pulsing.

Edrad was sitting on the couch and turned to look at them as they approached, standing when Grimmjow neared. Whether out of confusion or fear, the Fracción only allowed his stare to hover over Yylfordt for a moment before he took a few steps aside. He knew better than to let his gaze wander, especially considering the fierce look in the Sexta's eyes.

Grimmjow ignored him to scan the space for a moment, and he gave Yylfordt's hand a squeeze; his focus came to rest on the glass coffee table in the center of the room. Tugging on the blond roughly, he had him flat on his back against the surface in one quick motion. Grimmjow stayed standing, one hand slipping nonchalantly over the other man's chest. When he met Yylfordt's eyes, he tweaked a nipple between his fingers and flashed a grin.

.

It was odd as shit, the whole thing. But that didn't stop him from smirking. Grimmjow wanted to show him off. Yylfordt could have no complaints about that.

He might have been the one taking the cock, but that didn't make him anything less. The opposite, in fact, given that it was Grimmjow doing it to him.

Yylfordt had always known he was the best looking out of them all. Still nice to be reminded of it though. Once again, he found himself thinking about how great things had become. A twinge of what he would call possession-because he didn't know what the hell else it could be-passed through him at that. And then he was on his back on that glass table he had never liked with Grimmjow pawing at him.

Yylfordt smirked again, his gaze drifting from Grimmjow's to Shawlong's where he stood in the hallway and then back. Fucker had had the hots for him since they'd been made, but nothing to offer and not enough power to take what he wanted. The most Yylfordt had allowed Shawlong to talk him into was to let the man give him a blowjob. It hadn't been that bad, but Yylfordt knew he could do much better. Soon after that Grimmjow had started in on him and it didn't matter anymore.

But all that was in the past.

Now both he and Grimmjow were in a position to be envied.

"Hell of a way to keep your promise," he said, as he spread his legs and placed his feet on the table.

.

Grimmjow could feel the eyes of his other Fracción. Their presence was not _trivial_: it added to the sense of dominance that was rushing to his head. They were vital only because he was making a point. In reality, this entire moment was for him. This entire moment was for him and Yylfordt.

"One of my better ideas," he said with a grin.

His focus shifted from the other man's skin, settling between Yylfordt's legs. The Sexta could hardly mask his cravings as he leered at the other man's cock, at his entrance, and he ran his tongue out over his lower lip. Grimmjow stayed on his feet even as he lowered himself over the other man.

"I knew ya'd look good like this, but…" A harsh chuckle passed between his lips and he sucked on the side of Yylfordt's neck, letting out a satisfied grunt against familiar skin. He pulled back enough to look down at the other man's exposed form before moving his mouth to Yylfordt's ear.

"Fuck." Grimmjow tugged on an earlobe. "You're sexy."

He hovered over Yylfordt's mouth with the promise of a kiss, but moved his lips to the man's chest before it could happen. Grimmjow toyed with a nipple, biting and blowing over it before repeating himself with the other one. And then he was slipping lower, trailing fingers down the center of Yylfordt's stomach and following with his tongue and teeth.

Every touch was driven by his pulsing energy, by the fact that they were being watched, by his own need to hear Yylfordt beg for his release. He was hardly conscious of being between the other man's legs again until he was replicating the teasing licks and nips from their time in the bedroom, making a point of ghosting his breath over the other man's erection every time he shifted.

.

Yylfordt's breath started to pick up from the way Grimmjow was eyeing him, but what really had his heart racing was what happened next.

"No shit." Yylfordt might have made some other comment. He thought about it. Thought of grabbing Grimmjow's dick and showing everyone just how fucking good he was at giving a hand job. Before he could, Grimmjow was sliding down his body and toying with him. Just like before.

Yylfordt rose up on his elbows and stared. He licked his lips and fought not to groan. It was a battle he lost.

"And you-" Yylfordt's breath hitched. "You look good like that."

He spread himself wider and shuddered.


	21. Part II: Chapter 14

.

**The Coronation of Self: Part II**

**Chapter Fourteen**

**By: Ryoko & SZP**

Nnoitra made his way through the hallways, ignoring, as usual, the Arrancar that ducked aside as he passed. He had promised himself some _quality time_ with his Fracción and was grinning with each new despicable idea that came into his head. The thought of Tesla on all fours, waiting for him in his bed was more than enough incentive to get back as soon as possible; he could already taste the blood on his tongue and it had him teeming with a fierce desire. He needed it too, after his time away from the Octava, who had been busying himself with his own _personal project_. He would have made it back without distraction if it wasn't for the familiar pulse of reiatsu that seemed to suddenly surge through the space. For a moment, he almost cursed his impeccable and innate ability to pick up on things like this. Even if he didn't want to know, the Sexta's energy was easy enough to distinguish in it's immature, unbridled capacity. There were only two people, besides himself, capable of freeing that moron, and there was really no reason for Aizen to do it.

Turning on his heel, Nnoitra moved away from his area, back down the corridor, past the same Arrancar, heading instead to the laboratory. He couldn't come up with a reason why Szayel would free Grimmjow, unless the scientist had another plan in mind that he had yet to introduce to the Quinta, but he was sure to find out. This was supposed to be Nnoitra's victory over the hostile Espada, after all, and not even the man who had given him the tools necessary to achieve it would prevent him from hanging on to that success.

As he neared, he could feel Grimmjow's reiatsu lessening, moving, and he ground his teeth. It didn't surprise him then, to enter the lab and find it lacking a Sixth Espada. It certainly raised his hackles though.

"Don't tell me yer goin' soft now," he said, letting himself in. His one eye scanned the Octava, an eyebrow raised in interest. The bruises around Szayel's throat had his curiosity piqued, and Nnoitra didn't bother waiting for the other man to respond before he wrapped his own fingers around, settling on that familiar skin and squeezing slightly. When he met Szayel's gaze, he grinned.

"Ya didn't even let me play with him this time."

.

Szayel was just starting with the clean up when he noticed a familiar reiatsu heading his way. It wasn't long before Nnoitra showed his face.

He was growing quite accustomed to other people grabbing his throat. Such a shame for them that their displays of dominance were wasted on him. Szayel was completely secure in his status as a perfect and eternal being and nothing they could do would ever change it.

He smiled right back at the man.

"Would you like to see the video?" Szayel licked his lips. He was glad Nnoitra was there.

"The Sexta was brought quite low, indeed."

.

While Nnoitra was somewhat intrigued by his fellow Espada's fall from power, it wasn't nearly interesting enough to keep his mind from what was currently taking place. His fingers pulsed again before he withdrew them, eyeing the scratch marks left behind from the Sexta. What had happened with Grimmjow was over for now and was, therefore, ignored. It was simple enough. Nnoitra's focus was occupied.

"I don't give a shit," he admitted, still regarding the faint trace of blood along the side of Szayel's throat.

Lowering his head, he ran his tongue along the developing welts. He kept his hands to himself, at least for now, but when he pulled back, he didn't bother to disguise his consideration for the Octava's naked body.

He slipped a hand into his robes, scratching nonchalantly at a healed scar on his abdomen. "Besides." When he met Szayel's gaze, he raised an eyebrow. "_You owe me_."

.

The change in position was a welcome one. Szayel tilted his head to the side so Nnoitra would have better access. He gave a low hum of approval as the man continued to pay attention to his neck. One of the many reasons Nnoitra made such a good plaything was his attention to detail. Szayel did so love that every part of his perfect body was paid its due adoration.

The Quinta would not disappoint him this time either. Szayel could tell by the way the man was looking at him. But there was one small matter to clear up first.

"Quite presumptuous, aren't we? Especially when I am the one who has so recently done you _several_ favors," he said, with a smirk. The Quinta's arrogance might have irritated him if it hadn't been par for the course with the man.

"Mmm...but I confess you have me curious. What exactly do you want?" Szayel was open to entertaining the request providing it held his interest.

.

Nnoitra took a step back. While it was true that the Octava had helped him out with a couple of things, it was not something that he was about to admit out loud, and he certainly wasn't planning on following up with whatever debt Szayel felt he was due; freeing Grimmjow only added to that. Though he really _didn't_ have any interest in the Sexta, it was clear that Szayel did. And that, along with the bruises on the Octava's neck and the mention of a video and the obvious delight that only sex could bring to Szayel's face, had Nnoitra's teeth grinding.

He pulled his hand from his robes and set about ridding himself of his jacket. Nnoitra distanced himself from Szayel, briefly scanning the experiments on the table that he passed.

"Ya shouldn't be curious," he said, letting the white fabric fall to the floor.

Nnoitra took a seat on the table, his feet still planted on the ground. He disregarded the glass jars that shifted when he leaned back. Raising his eye to Szayel's, he grazed his hands over his own chest, scoring his nails against skin, his head falling back slightly with the touch. Nnoitra's tongue ran over his teeth before he flashed them.

"You know what I want."

.

Szayel watched Nnoitra with half-lidded eyes as he divested himself of his garment and came to sit on one of his laboratory tables. Once he was assured that there would be no harm to his precious equipment, Szayel moved back to sit on his throne once more.

"Well, if there is nothing else…" he said, his head tilted to the side as if he was deep in thought. In reality he was lamenting the lack of creativity on the other man's part. _Of course_ Nnoitra wanted sex from him. A taste of perfection was enough to instill a powerful craving in his playthings which only he could satiate.

Szayel relaxed against his Fraccion. He spread his legs the tiniest bit and smirked. It was a good thing for Nnoitra that he was, very definitely, in the mood.

.

Nnoitra regarded Szayel's movements, every one of the other man's actions causing his grin to widen. He did nothing to veil his interest, freely allowing his eye to assault every part of the Octava that was on display. But he still made no move to act on his desires. Before he had started meeting with this man, he would have responded on impulse, taken advantage of the available flesh until Szayel was torn and bloodied beneath him. And while he still intended to get the same results in the end, he had developed a restraint that he would hold on to for as long as he could. It was the one of the only ways to win with this man.

There was no way that Nnoitra was going to indulge the Octava and fuck him on his throne as if he deserved it. He held Szayel's stare as he leaned back further on the table, knocking something over that fell to the floor and shattered, not that he paid it any attention. One hand snaked down his chest and beneath the fabric of his hakama; his fingers wrapped around his dick and he let out a hiss, keeping the other Espada in his sight as he twisted his wrist.

.

Nnoitra's casual penchant for destruction was as irritating as it was anticipated. Accordingly, he hadn't left out anything too important. What he had left out was done on purpose so as to satisfy said penchant without Nnoitra actually going in search of something to break.

Szayel watched the show even as he continued with his own display. He propped his legs on his throne and leaned back even more, his hair trailing up the back of his seat. Szayel swirled his fingers around his entrance before beginning to thrust them inside. His head fell back and he moaned.

It wouldn't be long now, especially for the fact that Nnoitra had already owned his intentions. His Fraccion shuddered with him. As they should. He dropped a hand to stroke along one's back as he continued his ministrations.

.

Nnoitra's eyebrow raised when Szayel spread himself open further, and his gaze dropped to where deft fingers began to thrust. He watched for a moment before shifting his attention to the Octava's face. Szayel's reactions held his focus, and the hand wrapped around his cock pumped faster.

Nnoitra's self-control was wearing thin, but he held up his feigned indifference, forcing his motions to steady so that he didn't bring himself over too soon. A throaty groan passed between his grinding teeth, and only once. He wasn't about to mimic the other man and moan like a whore. Instead, he pushed the fabric of his hakama down, exposing himself as he thumbed over the head of his cock. Nnoitra's muscles tensed, but he reigned in his desire, even when his free hand ran through his hair, pulled tightly on the long dark locks, and then flicked his eye patch aside. His fingers slipped into his Hollow hole and he let his head fall back.

.

There were so many different reiatsu signatures in the Octava's area lately. _Too many._ Aaroniero could feel them all from his own adjacent area. Finally, after the Quinta's came, he decided to investigate. He owed Szayel a visit, anyway.

Things had been a little sticky since their latest meeting. He'd been trying to get Szayel alone. _All for me_. But, Szayel had been busy with the Sexta and his Fraccion and now the Quinta, who was coming and going a lot these days. _Too much_. Too many people.

The only thing that kept him from coming earlier was the fact he knew that Szayel was acting on the temptation he'd tried to instill in him. Ah, he would experiment first, wouldn't he? _Yes, yes._

Aaroniero was eager to capitalize on the result.

A more delicious sight couldn't have greeted him as he came in. To see Szayel's body spread out like a feast was irresistible. Aaroniero, wearing his best and most familiar Shinigami form, was at his side in an instant. And then how could he resist sampling Szayel for himself? Ah, he couldn't of course. _Never, never._

Aaroniero stuck his finger into Szayel's Hollow hole and leaned in to whisper in his ear as his head flew back.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm early." He paid no attention to the other man in the room. How could he, with Szayel splayed out like that?

.

Szayel watched Nnoitra assault his own Hollow hole with a fleeting smirk. The other man had learned and learned well. He slid his hand down his body. Szayel dithered with a nipple until it bruised before trailing his hand down further to his cock. He fisted it with a loose hand before coming to play with the tip. Szayel swirled his finger around the head, groaning as he did so.

What really undid him was the sudden presence of another person, who shoved his finger inside Szayel's Hollow hole. His head flew back and he gasped. Szayel almost missed what was said.

When he recovered himself enough, he put a hand on Aaroniero's cheek and drew him in to whisper in his ear.

"I wasn't expecting you until later."

Szayel wouldn't tell him to leave. He didn't have to. Nnoitra would do that himself before or after giving Szayel exactly what he wanted.

Szayel couldn't have planned it better himself. He would have to thank Aaroniero with his body later. As he had always planned to do.

.

Nnoitra could have brought himself over if he had kept up his motions. His fingers and the man across the room were enough to get his hips rocking up into his own palm. It wasn't how he had expected their encounter to go, but most of the time with this man, things tended to be spontaneous. And while he would have preferred to get off in the other man and not just in his lab, if Szayel was going match Nnoitra's stubbornness, it might be better off that he just come and leave. Tesla was still waiting for him, after all.

He fingered his Hollow hole as his hand pumped quickly, and a deep grunt escaped from his throat. He was close. And yet, almost instantly, he felt turned off. The familiar reiatsu in the area stopped him immediately, though his muscles remained tense for an entirely different reason.

When Aaroniero walked in, Nnoitra ground his teeth. His one daunting eye watched the other two Espada, his fists clenching as he stood from the table. Nnoitra pulled his hakama back up around his waist, stalking over to where the other men were. It was bad enough that Aaroniero walked into the lab as if he owned the place, and it was certainly infuriating that he was now flirting with Nnoitra's prey; being ignored, however, was the ultimate insult.

"Yo," he said roughly, stopping in front of Szayel. Almost unconsciously, he rested a hand on the Octava's shoulder, though, even when he realized it, he only let his fingers grip more tightly. Nnoitra glared at the new arrival. "Fuck off."

.

Aaroniero was just about to reply when they were interrupted. _So rude!_ He looked from the hand to the Quinta and back. That man, he thought he had the right to touch the Octava! No, no. That was Aaroniero's place. He had come first. He understood Szayel. That mind. Someday he would eat it. But for now, he wanted to play with it. For that, for his plan, he didn't need this. _The Quinta should leave._

Aaroniero raised a brow at the intruder.

"Oh, Quinta! Very sorry I didn't see you there," he said, with a grin.

Then he turned to Szayel again.

"I'm interrupting." Aaroniero laughed and stepped back.

Right now, he was going to show them all just how nice he could be. So nice. _Too damn nice_, his mind supplied. He agreed. But it was for a cause, remember? _Yes, yes_.

The ultimate victory would still be his.

He'd have Szayel in his palm right with the others he had lured there. So very soon.

Aaroniero smiled at the thought.

.

Szayel could have grinned along with Aaroniero. That man knew how to play a good game. Szayel liked him for that, if nothing else. He was playing Nnoitra almost exactly as if Szayel had asked him to.

Maybe he would next time.

For now, he hooked a leg around Nnoitra's torso and licked his lips.

Szayel didn't say a word. But, then, he didn't have to.

Aaroniero was very good at what he did.

.

Nnoitra could have killed him just for that smile. It seemed genuine, which was one of the reasons why he was beginning to seethe, but he knew better. It wasn't until his nails were puncturing skin that he realized how tense he had become. He glanced down at Szayel, at the blood beneath his fingers, and he could have cursed the man for wrapping a leg around him. Of course, the slut still wanted some.

The fact that the Novena was still in the room would have pissed him off if he didn't have something to prove. And he knew by now that Szayel was always one for a show. Nnoitra turned his attention to Aaroniero, even as he let his nails sink deeper. He pulled the Octava up from where he was sitting; there was still no way that he was going to give in and ravage Szayel on that fucked up throne. The motion had the flesh around his fingers ripping, but he ignored it to shove Aaroniero further aside.

"You are."

Using his own weight, he pushed Szayel backwards and onto the floor, savoring the tear of his fingers from the other man's shoulder as he fell on top of him. Nnoitra shoved his knee down on Szayel's rib cage, while his hands worked at his hakama; he slid the fabric low enough to free his throbbing erection, and he fisted himself over the other man's chest. A few fingers dipped into the blood along Szayel's skin before he ran them over his tongue. And he repeated the motion, except that the second time, his fingers pushed between the Octava's lips. He focused on the other man's face as he pumped himself, even when he spoke again to the Novena.

"I said, fuck off."

.

The scent of blood, _Szayel's_ blood reached his nose. _Delicious_. Aaroniero wanted a taste too. It wasn't fair that the Quinta got to have all the fun. Later, he told himself. Later, he would have all of that and more.

Aaroniero watched as the Quinta dragged his prize away like it belonged to him. _Not fair!_ But oh, he couldn't break his act now, could he? _No, never._ That was what he thought. Aaroniero had to show them how nice he could be. That was what he had been doing and what he had planned.

"My mistake," he said, with a smile. Aaroniero let his gaze linger on Szayel's naked body for a moment longer and then he turned and left.

Aaroniero went all the way back to his area to make sure the Quinta felt it before suppressing his reiatsu and making his way back.

He might have been playing nice, but that didn't mean he wouldn't come back and enjoy the show. Aaroniero hid, knowing Szayel would catch his presence with his machines. _So handy._ Pity for the Quinta he wasn't into them.

.

Szayel shuddered as those nails sank into his skin. It was apparent that Aaroniero's presence made the situation pleasantly combustible. More proof was in the way Nnoitra lifted him-Szayel almost cried out in blissful agony-and cast him to the ground.

Szayel had intended for them to have sex on his throne, but that would be for another day. Besides, this was almost as good. The knee at his chest had him writhing as his ribs creaked under weight of it. Szayel wet his lips as he stared at the erection so prominent above him.

He moaned around the fingers in his mouth as he lapped every trace of flawless blood from them. Szayel's tongue swirled over and around those long digits as he sucked them deep into his mouth. He kept Nnoitra's gaze the entire time.

The fact that Aaroniero had returned was not lost on him as per the sensory equipment that beeped and notified him. Szayel would allow it. Perfection was meant to be adored, after all.

He reached a hand up and stuck his fingers in Nnoitra's Hollow hole. Szayel massaged the sides without any real violence as he continued to suck

.

By the time Aaroniero was leaving, Nnoitra was already too preoccupied with the tongue around his fingers to care. He did, however, grin in satisfaction at the loss of that reiatsu. It wasn't that he had a problem with fucking the Octava in front of anyone else; that was hardly a concern. But he needed Szayel's full attention, and that would be impossible with the Novena standing around.

At the intrusion in his Hollow hole, he let out a low grunt and withdrew his fingers from the other man's mouth, running the wet digits over his erection. Nnoitra held Szayel's gaze, even when his breath hitched as he thumbed the head of his cock. He unconsciously pressed harder against Szayel's chest when he spread the beads of fluid over his shaft. His arm dropped once more, his entire hand pressing into the wound on the other man's shoulder, feeling fresh blood surface to stain his skin. When he fisted himself again, he broke their stare, his eye turning to watch while he spread Szayel's blood along the length of his cock. Nnoitra pumped himself a few times and he stopped just before his back began to arch. Meeting the other man's eyes again, he raised his hand and licked his palm.

.

Szayel groaned as Nnoitra put more pressure on his already taxed ribs. His fingers faltered inside the man's Hollow hole. Szayel only broke eye contact to watch with Nnoitra as the man prepared himself. His fingers curled inside the Quinta's skull. He scraped his nails down the sides after Nnoitra's hand dropped once more, then returned them to his mouth to lick them clean.

Szayel's other hand shot out to grip Nnoitra's balls. He massaged them as he sucked in a shuddering breath.

.

The nails along the inside of his Hollow hole had Nnoitra growling, and his back arched, all of his weight pressing down against Szayel's ribs. Already his fist was pumping again, accompanying Szayel's massaging hand; he had to force himself to stop, to grab the other man's wrist and pull his hand away, so that he could move back to settle on the floor.

Nnoitra's fingers were quickly grabbing the skin of Szayel's thighs, spreading the man open as he dragged him closer. His nails tore through smooth flesh and a shiver ran up the length of his spine.

This was exactly what Szayel wanted, and the Quinta knew it. But it was exactly what _he_ wanted as well.

He thrust in all at once and gave the man no time to adjust before backing out and driving forward again. Nnoitra's hands rested on the floor on either side of Szayel's head, and he held himself up, gritting his teeth as he looked down at the other man and his hips moved more quickly.

.

Szayel continued to fondle Nnoitra until the man pulled his hand away. He sucked in a deep breath as the Quinta freed his chest. Szayel's nails scored Nnoitra's thighs even as he was spreading him open. The intrusion was as violent as it was expected. Szayel's moan echoed throughout the laboratory as his muscles seized and hot blood ran down his thighs.

The agony was immeasurable, but then so was the pleasure. _This_ was why he favored the Quinta. Incredibly easy to find a plaything to take apart, spill across one of Szayel's tables at his leisure. Much harder to find someone who shared his sensibilities and knew just how to give it to him in return, someone who wouldn't fold under the weight of Szayel's obvious dominion. Someone who fought back, who gave him this delectable pain.

Unlike with most of his other playthings, it would take him a long time to get bored of Nnoitra Gilga.

Szayel spread himself further, pulling his legs back to offer Nnoitra better access so that he could go deeper and harder with more ease. He gripped the man's sides and met his stare as he undulated with him.

.

The moan that was reverberating off of the walls came back to tear through Nnoitra. And in turn, he pushed himself deeper. If a noise from Szayel's throat could rip through him, then surely he could rip through Szayel with just his momentum alone.

Aside from his thrusting, he didn't touch the other man. His hands rested firmly on the ground, his gaze locked on the Octava's eyes. Until the scientist's hands came to grip at him, every push forward had the other man sliding against the floor. It was somewhat frustrating that Szayel decided to hold on, as Nnoitra was beginning to enjoy the feel of the friction that came with Szayel's back rubbing along the hard ground.

The Quinta only looked away when Szayel's legs adjusted. He glanced down between them, his hair falling over the other man's chest, and he felt even before he saw how the Octava was shifting to accommodate more of him. When he raised his head again, it was with a low grunt.

He chose depth over speed, every thrust into the other Espada coming slowly, compared to his usual quick motions. Nnoitra pulled out almost entirely each time, and drove in roughly, his unforgiving movements accompanied by the harsh slap of skin against skin. He bit down on his lower lip as a satisfied gleam flashed in his eye.

.

Szayel's hands faltered against Nnoitra's flesh as the man began driving into him more deeply. His breathing quickened and his back bowed from the floor. Szayel really couldn't get enough of this man and his delicious torment. Each time it was something new. In a world where he was the puppet master controlling the vast majority of the others, surprises were few and far in between. Szayel was hard pressed to think of a plaything he enjoyed more. Even Aaroniero, his previous favorite, didn't hold a candle to this man. Not that that fact would stop Szayel from indulging himself with the Novena.

His cock jumped with each thrust to jolt against his stomach. Szayel's staccato moans accompanied the sound of flesh pounding flesh.

In the end, Szayel alternated with Nnoitra's name because he knew it would drive the man on and Szayel, in turn, to greater heights of pleasure.

.

Nnoitra's hips were rocking slowly, his thrusts going deeper with each drive forward. The sounds and his name on the other man's lips urged him on, made him push more aggressively and with more power behind his movements, until every thrust had Szayel shifting again on the ground beneath him.

He was holding himself up directly over Szayel's face, but he didn't let himself touch. The blood that was still pooling at the Octava's shoulder was the most tempting, and ignoring it was proving more difficult with each drive closer to release; still, he eyed it for a moment, licked his lips, and then looked once again to Szayel. The Quinta bit back the throaty groans that threatened to escape past his lips. Instead, he only allowed his rough breaths to fill the air, joining Szayel's moans and the clap of his skin against the other man's.

Nnoitra's jaw clenched. He was thrusting violently now, still steady so as to savor every delicious thrust in and out of Szayel's body. When he moved forward, the force almost made him lightheaded. His stare did not falter, even when the muscles in his legs tensed or when his fingers curled against the floor for purchase. The tightening in the pit of his stomach was becoming more apparent with every passing second. Nnoitra ignored it to raise an eyebrow at the other man, before giving a particularly jarring thrust.

.

Nnoitra's movements picked up exactly as Szayel had anticipated. If he had been human, Szayel's back would have been rubbed raw from it. As he wasn't, the sensation only added to the pressure building in his groin. Szayel's cries took on an increasing sense of urgency. He gripped Nnoitra's sides hard enough to leave bruises. Not that either of them would care.

When he saw the Quinta's eye dither to his shoulder, Szayel dropped a hand to the wound. He squeezed until blood was flowing freely again before smearing it across his chest as he tweaked his own nipple. Szayel then ran his hand over Nnoitra's face and onto his lips, turning them crimson with his blood.

He couldn't hold the position long. Soon, Szayel was back to clinging to Nnoitra's sides as his orgasm built and built and then he was coming hard.

Szayel sprayed them both with his semen as he sagged against the ground, taking each punishing thrust Nnoitra still had to give.

.

Nnoitra's breath was coming heavier with each thrust into the other man. It didn't help that Szayel was making noises to spur him on. Every sound that fell from the Octava's lips had Nnoitra driving deeper, his vigorous movements strengthening with the hope of taking the breath right out of Szayel's lungs, cutting those moans short.

He didn't look when the other man began to tease himself, but he knew that it was happening. The Quinta ground his teeth at the thought of missing the show, but kept his eye focused on Szayel's face.

His hips jerked harder in irritation. And then that bloodied hand was sliding over his face, and he let his anger show. Nnoitra's tongue slipped between his lips to taste, and the familiar flavor was enough to have him giving in to his desires.

When Szayel came, Nnoitra growled low in his throat. He wanted to last, to keep up his actions until the Octava couldn't stand to have his cock inside of him. He wanted to rip this man apart. His movements quickened and he panted, fighting off the need to come so that he could make Szayel suffer for just a little while longer. That alone kept him going, kept him thrusting harder, kept his hips rocking roughly. And he didn't slow, even when his muscles tightened or when his arms threatened to give out on him. Nnoitra's release had him arching his back, clenching his jaw, and he only stopped when his body began to shake, before he was pulling out harshly and all at once.

.

Szayel was impressed with the man's stamina. It was too soon even for him, but each thrust brought a low groan with it. He was hanging on the precipice with his afterglow still making his body so sensitive. It made his breathing stay harsh and fast. Szayel met the Quinta's gaze as the other man finally came. Only then did he release his hold. None too soon either as Nnoitra immediately drew away. This caused Szayel to writhe almost on reflex.

He lay panting as he tried to recover. But Szayel couldn't resist the blood on Nnoitra's lips for too long. He found the strength to lift himself and then he was gripping Nnoitra's head as his tongue ran across what remained of the red trail he had left.

.

Nnoitra relaxed his jaw and let the other man's reactions wash over him. His breathing was steadying, though the sounds of his exhalations were still hanging in the air. It was rewarding to stay this way, held up over Szayel's body, the other man writhing under him. He would have smiled in satisfaction if the Octava hadn't taken that moment to kiss him.

Even if he didn't want to, Nnoitra pulled his head back, his tongue running out over his lips to taste the man that he had just ended contact with. He delighted in the fact that Szayel had broken first, had given in to his desires and tried to make something familiar out of their game. Nnoitra wouldn't crack quite as easily.

He sat back enough to take the weight off of his arms, and while he considered using his knee again, refrained, opting instead to press a hand down against Szayel's chest; the touch was firm at first, but soon he was putting more of his strength behind it, holding the other man solidly against the floor. Nnoitra didn't say anything, though he watched the Octava intently, his other hand raising to his mouth. He licked at his fingers, and then his arm was dropping, his nails sinking into the bloodied gouge that he had left on Szayel's shoulder. Nnoitra's fingers fit perfectly in the wound and he savored it for only a moment before he gripped at the skin and pulled his arm back. A shiver ran up his spine at the sensation of ripping flesh and he grinned.

.

Szayel might have been disappointed that the Quinta had pulled back if the man hadn't immediately begun to satisfy him in another way. Szayel could tell Nnoitra was planning something interesting by the fact he chose to press his body down so harshly. Szayel's ribs creaked as the breath was squeezed out of him. Pity for Nnoitra that this effort was wasted on a being who had no need for it. What came next more than made up for that. Nnoitra could be very appealing when he wanted. Or so Szayel had determined. And right then, with his nails buried in Szayel's shoulder, was one of his crowning moments.

Szayel didn't even have time to tense before he was being flayed open. The agony was both intense and immediate. It far surpassed anything the man had done thus far in their present encounter. Szayel's back bowed as far as Nnoitra's hand would allow it as his mouth opened in a soundless cry. He might have screamed had he the breath.

Blood rushed out to stain his chest, neck, hair, _everywhere_. Szayel keenly felt each thump of his heart. Yet when he resumed his normal position, it was with a smile. Nnoitra was fighting a losing game. He just didn't know it yet.

Szayel reached down to the trailing ends of his ruined flesh and pulled, shuddering as skin and muscle tore off in his hands. Like this it was all useless and rendered irrelevant to him. His flesh had become a mere resource. Szayel was about to utilize it to its fullest potential.

Meeting Nnoitra's gaze, he held the trailing ends of the strips of what was now just a kind of meat over his mouth. Szayel licked his lips and then lowered it all onto his waiting tongue.

He held Nnoitra's gaze as he chewed. Szayel might have taunted him about his lack of imagination-mostly a lie at this point-but he didn't have the adequate air for it. Instead, all he managed was moan that rumbled deep in his chest at that perfect taste. Healing would come later. For now, enjoyment and a show.

.

Nnoitra was still savoring his victory over the Octava when the other man smiled. It was a good thing that he hadn't expected success to come so easily, or he would have felt insulted.

He regarded his fellow Espada as Szayel tore more of his own skin away, and Nnoitra was filled with a delighted fascination. Pain was nothing but a portal to pleasure, as far as he was concerned, and since their first encounter, he became aware of the Octava's mutual understanding of that fact. When Szayel licked his lips, Nnoitra did the same, watching as the other man began to eat his own flesh. It probably should have surprised him more, but everything that had happened between them taught him to presume nothing. Everything was fair game when it came to the two of them and Szayel's actions now were only proving that.

Nnoitra's fingers curled against Szayel's chest, and with the pressure that he was exerting, his nails punctured skin almost immediately. The blood pooling at his fingers intensified his craving.

He let up, giving Szayel a brief chance to breathe before his bloodied fingers wrapped around that throat, tightening and pressing the Octava down against the floor. Nnoitra hadn't planned on it, but Szayel's actions had made him crazy. He was fierce when he lowered his head to capture the other man's lips, forcing his tongue deep into Szayel's mouth, tasting for blood and skin and muscle.

His fingers contracted and he started to rock his hips, sliding himself along Szayel's cock. A harsh grunt passed from his throat during the embrace.

With his free hand, Nnoitra scored his nails over skin, finally letting digits sink into the large wound. He growled at the amount of blood and bit down on Szayel's tongue for the taste of it. Hooking his fingers beneath skin, Nnoitra pulled again, tearing flesh as his hand moved along the other man's body. A shudder coursed through him that had his grip on Szayel's throat tensing, but he ignored it to keep up with ravaging the man beneath him.

.

After everything that had happened, Szayel hardly felt the puncture. He was losing quite a bit of blood, but that didn't matter. Cauterization worked wonders under duress. He would stop things before they got anywhere close to being threatening. For now he would enjoy it. Szayel finished chewing and swallowed just in time as Nnoitra grabbed his throat. He let out a muffled grunt and smirked.

Then Nnoitra's mouth met his in a fierce, brutal clash. Szayel was more teeth than tongue or lips, although those played a role. He bit down on Nnoitra's tongue and drank down the blood when it began to pool in his mouth. Szayel groaned when the same was done to him. The combined flavor was intoxicating and yet another reminder of why Nnoitra was his favorite plaything.

Szayel shuddered and groaned as Nnoitra rocked against him with a corresponding gurgle of pained pleasure when Nnoitra ripped him open even more. Immediately, his hand shot out to make a twin laceration on Nnoitra's chest. Szayel licked his lips as the man's blood streamed down to join the fount surging from his destroyed chest. He ran his hand through it all, delighting in the wet, warm sensation. And then he was back to painting Nnoitra's face with the mixture.

.

What Nnoitra found most surprising about the entire encounter was the fact that Szayel was so openly giving him the responses that he craved. It didn't bother him in the slightest, but every sound that he was swallowing from their kiss seemed to tear through him in ways that Szayel's teeth and nails could never do.

When the Octava was ripping at his chest, he let out a rough groan and pulled his head back to bite down hard on Szayel's lower lip. Blood was dripping from the corner of his mouth as he looked down at the other man, his fingers tightening again around Szayel's throat.

The blood under his hand was making him savage, as was the feel of his own. The moment that Szayel's hand touched his face, Nnoitra snapped.

Lowering his head, the Quinta sunk his teeth into Szayel's jaw, breaking through skin and pulling it with him as he jerked his head back. He met the other man's eyes as he sucked the bits of flesh between his lips and swallowed, a wild satisfaction flashing over his face. And then he was grinning, running his hand through their combined blood, spreading it over Szayel's abdomen as he backed up to sit on his heels. He forced Szayel to sit up, dragging the man by his throat, not ready to let him free just yet.

Nnoitra wrapped his hand around his cock, coating himself in blood, and shivering at the sensation. He pushed Szayel back against the floor almost as quickly as he had brought him up. His fingers loosened, both of his hands sliding through blood to grab on to the Octava's hips. Nnoitra pulled him closer as he thrust forward, driving into the other man all at once and picking up his pace instantly.

.

Szayel wanted to laugh. But if he started, he might never stop. The laboratory would be ringing with his madness. For as Nnoitra sank his teeth into Szayel's flesh and ripped it away, Szayel was able to think beyond the agony and sexual satisfaction. He had just broken down a barrier, plowed through the taboo amongst Espada.

Nnoitra was his.

Szayel moaned at the thought. He became instantly erect, his cock straining against his stomach. Szayel locked gazes with the Quinta as the man chewed and swallowed. His mouth opened and closed as he panted, the air wheezing in and out past the tight grip of fingers on his throat.

He had no intention of taking advantage of his success at the moment. It was the fact that he could drive Nnoitra to it again if he wanted to that had him biting down on his tongue to stifle a groan as the man hauled him into a sitting position. The wet slap of Szayel's back meeting the slick ground was loud. And then Nnoitra was on him, in him.

Aside from the times Nnoitra played with his Hollow hole, Szayel had never been more aroused in his life. He wanted nothing more than to press their bodies together so that the blood would slick between them. Szayel settled for smearing it in a wide circle around his body, gasping and groaning as Nnoitra rocked into him. When he could take it no longer, Szayel hauled himself up. He wrapped his arms and legs around Nnoitra's body and did his best to move with him as their blood dropped to speckle and then cover Szayel's legs.

.

Nnoitra hadn't expected the other man to wrap around him. Normally when he took him like this, Szayel simply laid back and writhed along the floor. He always enjoyed that sight, and since their first encounter had burned the image into his brain for his own personal use. He would have objected to the new contact if Szayel didn't feel so fucking good rubbing against him like that. The Quinta groaned at the grind of their bodies and the blood sliding between them, and he adjusted his hips to thrust up roughly into Szayel.

The smell and taste and feel of blood, accompanied by the fact that he and Szayel were losing so much of it, had him feeling vicious, and it went to his head, along with the overwhelming feeling that he was going to lose himself in this. Nnoitra's heightened aggression made him pick up the pace. He wanted to get off before he became too dazed to fuck Szayel right.

His fingers were slipping in their combined blood and he had to sink his nails into the skin of Szayel's hips just to keep his hold steady; he could feel the flesh there beginning to rip as he thrust harder, each movement shifting the other man, but it only added to everything else.

His one eye locked on to Szayel's gaze, and only briefly. Then he was meeting the Octava's mouth, hard, biting at his lips before thrusting his tongue between Szayel's teeth again, kissing him savagely as his hips jerked, every thrust more brutal than the last.

.

They were making a mess, but Szayel couldn't find it in himself to care. His jaw and chest throbbed, sending delicious waves of pain through his body. Nnoitra's flesh abraded him both inside and out. As before, Szayel's moans became continuous. This and the other sounds they were making echoed lewdly off the hard planes in the space.

It didn't matter anymore that Aaroniero was watching. Szayel's world was only as wide as his contact with Nnoitra's body. Each brutal thrust had him lifting upward, with Nnoitra's fingers dragging him back without mercy. Szayel loved it.

He clung to the other man as he smeared blood down that lithe back. Szayel could feel the muscles working under Nnoitra's skin as the man fucked him.

Szayel met Nnoitra's lips with equal force as they collided with his own. He groaned into the other man's mouth as Nnoitra used those blocky teeth on him. If Szayel had had any reserves whatsoever, they would have been spent by now with the way this man tormented him. This was by far the most savage consensual sex in which he had ever engaged.

Szayel gripped Nnoitra and willed himself not to come, willed his body to hold out. It was far too soon for what was quite possibly the best sex he'd had in his life to end.

.

A pleasant shudder ran up his spine at the blood being spread over his back by Szayel's talented hands. It had his movements hurrying, his fingers gripping tighter, his thrusts driving deeper. Nnoitra growled into the kiss.

He was somewhat impressed that Szayel hadn't passed out yet, not that he would admit it and not that he was arguing. If anything, Nnoitra hoped that the scientist would keep it up so that _he_ could be the one to make him black out. That thought alone made him break the kiss, moving to bite down again, this time on the Octava's other shoulder; his teeth broke through flesh with ease and so he kept the pressure until they were entirely beneath the surface of Szayel's skin. He brought his head up roughly, splattering blood over the side of Szayel's neck and his own face, not that it mattered in comparison.

The Quinta gave as much as he could, and with the most excessive force that he could, given the position. Even if he wanted this to last for as long as possible, he knew that it was only a matter of time and made the best of it.

Nnoitra grunted. His hips jerked quickly. He slid his hands around Szayel, pressing against the back of his shoulders to pull him tighter against his own chest. That wet slide of blood between them tore another groan from his throat. He could feel the Octava's cock against his stomach, and he tensed, his nails slashing down Szayel's back. Nnoitra couldn't help himself. He dipped his head to lap at blood, and straightened up, meeting Szayel's eyes as he licked his lips clean before lowering again for more.

.

Szayel was getting carried away. He felt as if he were drowning. And, in a way, it might have been true due to the sheer volume of sensation he was experiencing. His moan was even louder than usual as Nnoitra sank his teeth into him once more. Everything was happening in tandem. It had Szayel shuddering and his grip loosening as he was overwhelmed. He had let things go too far, but he never wanted to stop.

Szayel's vision dimmed at the edges. He did not give in. Not even when Nnoitra pressed their bodies together and scored his nails down Szayel's back. Not even when that sensuous tongue assaulted his wounds for the blood flowing freely from them. And certainly not from the feeling of blood streaming down all sides of his body.

Instead he pierced Nnoitra's side with his finger, sticking it inside until it wouldn't go any further. Szayel rolled his hips in tandem with Nnoitra's own as he curled the digit against soft organs. The sensation almost sent him over the edge. He was so close.

.

Nnoitra moved ever quicker He thought for sure that Szayel was going to break around him from the amount of strength he was exerting. Nnoitra scored his nails again over the marks he had left on the other man's back, letting his fingers catch on the wounds to tear them open further.

The Quinta hadn't expected it to go this way, but what he felt now was the greatest satisfaction. Bringing Szayel to this level of pleasure, and indulging himself in just as much, made him wild.

Nnoitra grit his teeth at the finger jammed inside of him. That, and the accompanying movement of the other man's hips, had him tensing. Everything quickened in that moment: his nails, his thrusts, his need for release. And as soon as Szayel's finger rubbed against him, his muscles tightened and he held himself deep inside of Szayel as he came hard. He pressed closer to the Octava's body, gripping roughly to that abused skin, and focusing on the steadying rock of his hips to keep himself grounded. He only ceased his movements when the slide of the other man became too much for his hypersensitive cock.

Nnoitra shifted to lick once more at Szayel's bloodied chest, growling roughly against torn skin, and sliding his tongue into one of the deeper wounds.

.

All it took was for Nnoitra to rip his back open again and Szayel came hard, his hands twitching as his entire body tensed from the force of it. Nnoitra's release came in quick succession and had Szayel screwing his eyes shut for a moment as the man held himself inside so deep.

A hazy glow permeated everything, making Szayel want to relax against the Quinta's body. Before he could follow through Nnoitra was licking his chest. Szayel held on to the man with loose arms as he waited for his breathing to return to normal.

Nnoitra wasn't helping with that tongue buried in one of the lacerations crisscrossing Szayel's body. He gasped, his sensitive body shuddering. The finger inside Nnoitra curled once more before he yanked it out.

Szayel brought the digit to his mouth and sucked on it.

.

Nnoitra tensed as the other man's finger ripped out of him. If not for everything else, he might have been more aware of the pain it was causing, but as it was, the throbbing simply intensified the pleasure thrumming through his body.

He pulled back to watch as Szayel sucked his finger between his lips, and then he was grabbing the other man's wrist and forcing all of his weight against him. He pushed Szayel back against the floor. Both of his hands moved to press on the Octava's shoulders, and he ignored the slick blood and the feel of torn skin under his palms, focusing instead on keeping him pinned down.

The Quinta lay flush against him, waiting for a moment and listening to the sound of their collaborative panting. He flashed Szayel a grin before shifting, savoring the sensations as he slid himself lower, through their combined blood and Szayel's release, and he had to force himself to pull out as slowly as he possibly could; his hands followed, letting up to move with him down Szayel's sides. When he withdrew his cock completely, he let out a groan.

His face was above Szayel's stomach. The Quinta's eye lit at the sight, at the amount of blood, and he ran his tongue out to give a few long, steady licks, sucking down the flavor of their blood and Szayel's semen. Nnoitra's hands rested on the floor and he used the leverage to pull himself back up, running his body along the Octava's until they were face to face again. He didn't expect that they would make it through another round, not with how much blood they had already lost, but he kept at it for as long as he could.

He rested on his forearms, narrowing the distance, and met Szayel's mouth, his tongue sliding against the other man's to share the taste that he was still relishing. One hand snaked between them to run down Szayel's abdomen. Nnoitra disregarded how sensitive Szayel might still be and wrapped his fingers around the man's cock, giving a few rough jerks of his hand.

.

Szayel hardly had time to savor the taste of Nnoitra's blood before he was being forced to the ground once again. He didn't put up any resistance. Even if he had wanted to, it was to the point where he wouldn't have been capable of it. Against a weaker Espada or Numeros, yes. However, the Quinta was another matter. It wasn't a bad thing at the moment as the pressure Nnoitra was exerting on Szayel's primary wounds was actually beneficial.

Szayel had really gotten carried away. He would have been angry about it except for the fact the sex had been so mind blowing and he _never_ regretted good sex.

He shivered at the slide of flesh against his own. Szayel's breathing remained heightened as Nnoitra licked his stomach. Szayel's hands tightened into fists at his sides as the man made his way back up. And then he was sharing that wonderful taste with him.

Szayel fisted a hand in Nnoitra's hair and held him there as he savored it all. The hand against his abdomen wasn't unexpected. What drew a gasp from him and had him writhing and then tensing under Nnoitra was the fact the man had chosen to grab his genitals.

Szayel turned his head to the side and gasped out a question.

"What are you doing?"

He wouldn't make it through another round and he knew Nnoitra wouldn't either. Not like this.

.

Nnoitra was enjoying the kiss. It was a reasonable medium between their bouts of sex, and a way for him to maintain the touch and the aggression without getting off again too soon. Not that he imagined he would be getting off again. Considering the state they were in, it was impressive that they even held on to the energy necessary to be aroused. Szayel breaking their contact and questioning him was only further evidence of that fact.

Mimicking the other man's adjustment, Nnoitra moved his head to capture Szayel's lips again. As if turning away would keep him off.

His fist pumped another time, and he let his hand come to rest at the base of Szayel's cock.

Nnoitra bit at the Octava's lower lip before drawing back. "I'm fuckin' you, shithead."

He liked the noises that tended to fall from Szayel's lips at times like this, so when he lowered his head again, he focused on the gash in the man's shoulder. Nnoitra bit and licked at it, groaning against abused flesh as he slipped a finger into Szayel's Hollow hole.

.

Szayel grunted into Nnoitra's mouth as the other man began fondling him again. He might have raised a hand against him, but had the foresight to cauterize his wounds instead. At least, the ones he could reach. Szayel clapped both hands to his neck and burned everything shut then moved down and repeated the process on his chest.

When Nnoitra drew back, he opened his mouth to reply. All that came out was a strangled moan as his entire body tensed once more.

Szayel was sorely tempted to control him. But whether that would be to make the man stop or go harder at it, even he didn't know.

"Nnoitra, you-" he finally managed to get out. And then Szayel was lost, writhing underneath him once more as he became fully erect. His vision dimmed even more, but all Szayel did was grip Nnoitra's shoulders, his nails piercing flesh.

.

Nnoitra would not have have paid attention to what the other man was doing, except that Szayel was about to undo all of his hard work. Again. He waited for the man to move his hands before lowering his head, his mouth moving again over the same bruised flesh. In order for him to keep his balance and his grip on the Octava's erection, he was left with only his teeth as a weapon. Not that it proved to be an issue. He bit down on Szayel's collarbone, tugging on a piece of skin that broke loose with his assault, and jerked his head, hearing and feeling as it tore down to just above a nipple. He knew that Szayel would simply seal this wound closed as well, but that didn't mean that he had to make it easy on him. Nnoitra was probably getting more enjoyment out of it than he should have. He already had the other man annoyed with him, not that it would have stopped him. And they were both close enough to their limit that whatever he did now would hardly matter.

Nnoitra raised his eye to watch as Szayel writhed under him, and licked a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth.

The Quinta hardly noticed the pain in his shoulders. He was focused on the other man's face, his smile widening at the way that Szayel's words were cut short.

"I _what_?" he asked, mockingly, and thrust his finger again.

His breath was coming heavier, but that wasn't going to keep him from treating himself. Nnoitra dropped his head, disregarding his hair in their blood, and flicked his tongue over Szayel's nipple, tugging on it with his teeth as his finger curled inside the small Hollow hole.

.

With his body this exhausted, Szayel wouldn't have lasted long even if Nnoitra hadn't been preying on his weakness. Still, Szayel fought to hold on, to stay conscious. He knew if he came from this it would be the end of him. He made it through the Nnoitra's initial assault, even enough to finish his thought.

"-trying to make me pass out?" His question was punctuated with a heavy gasp as Nnoitra tormented his Hollow hole once more. Again, Szayel thought of controlling the man. But, as with his other fail safes, he didn't want to employ it until absolutely necessary.

Szayel didn't have time to think about it more before he was coming for the third and final time of the day. The combined sensation of Nnoitra's finger twitching in his Hollow hole and the man frustrating his nipple was too much for him.

He pushed a hand against Nnoitra's chest and grimaced through the pleasure before it dropped as he blacked out.

.

Nnoitra's tongue pressed down against Szayel's abused nipple, sliding back up his chest to the newest laceration he had left behind on the man's skin. The words in that strained voice rang in his head and he grinned. It wasn't that he wanted Szayel to _die_, but if Szayel was going to black out anyway, Nnoitra might as well give him a decent reason to. He almost replied, except that Szayel's release interrupted him.

Instead of answering, he grinned as Szayel came against his hand, Nnoitra's finger still toying with the hole even after the Octava was passed out on the floor.

Nnoitra held himself there for a few minutes afterward, eying the other man and trying to catch his own breath. Szayel had lost more blood than he had, but he was still exhausted, and he definitely needed something to heal him up if he didn't want to collapse on the way back to his room.

"Yo!" he yelled in the space, and sat back, his eye briefly regarding the mess that they had made. He was uninterested in whatever Fracción would appear, just as long as one did. Hell, there were enough of them around. When one so _bravely_ came forward and faced him, he motioned to the Octava's limp body. "Fix him."

The quick nod that was returned to him in response didn't surprise him. But as it made to leave, Nnoitra grabbed it by the arm, feeling it's weak body tensing at the touch. "Me too."

Another nod and the instant that the Arrancar was released, it was gone. The Quinta raised his eye to watch as it spoke to a few other useless creatures, before he shifted his gaze to where Szayel lay beside him.

Nnoitra's wounds were healed quickly, taking even less time because he only allowed the Fracción to fix the few largest ones before he was threatening them to leave him alone. He was still a mess, but he had no intention of getting rid of every scar he had acquired from their encounter; he was still marked from the first time they had done this. He pulled his hakama up around his waist and trailed a finger through the blood on his chest, watching as a few of the other Fracción carried Szayel into a separate area. Nnoitra could clean himself up when he got back to his room, finish himself off there as well. But for the moment, he sat back against the table and waited.

.

Szayel awoke to find himself immersed in healing fluid. For a second he wondered what had happened to him. And then it all came back. Szayel sat up and ran a hand over his pristine neck and chest before repeating the motion down his back.

He had been too greedy. Not that he regretted it.

Szayel stared at the milling Fraccion before selecting one. He nodded to it and it approached.

Szayel grabbed it. He had half of it eaten before any of the others could take a breath to protest. Szayel finished it off and wiped a hand across his mouth before making his usual reassurance to them.

"Don't make a fuss! I'll create another later," he said, as he hoisted himself out of the tub. It hadn't really been necessary, but Szayel didn't want to waste his time with a transfusion. He felt far more normal already.

Szayel directed his attention to Nnoitra when his feet touched the ground.

"Go," he said, although his words were not for Nnoitra himself. Rather, at his behest a Fraccion stepped forward and made its way over to the Quinta. Szayel, still dripping green fluid, was not far behind it.

"Try it. You'll feel much better." Szayel had predicted the time would come when Nnoitra would require something like this and as such had created a few Fraccion personally tailored to the man's needs. It would have the side-effect of healing all of his wounds, of course, but Szayel was not concerned with that.

.

Nnoitra could feel Szayel's reiatsu when he stirred awake, and he cocked his head to glance at the man where he lay in the tub. He scowled at the newness of the other man's skin, at the complete disrespect for his hard work; not that it was the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. That much was enough to keep him from becoming too annoyed with it.

He held his focus on the Octava, watching as the man took a bite out of his Fracción, and then devoured it. If he wasn't feeling as drained, he would have taken advantage of the other man's hunger.

When Szayel walked towards him, he stood from the table and opened his mouth to say something, stopping himself when that one word was spoken. The Octava spoke again, and Nnoitra eyed him.

It wasn't that he didn't believe the Fracción would heal him. In fact, a part of him didn't want it simply because of that. In reality, he didn't know what else it would do, and, while the relationship between the two Espada had developed a bit over the past few weeks, he still couldn't be sure that the other man wasn't going to try something.

The Quinta kicked the Arrancar to the side and walked to where the Octava stood, raising a hand to knot his fingers in Szayel's hair. He pulled to angle the other man's head back. Nnoitra bent down, kissing him roughly and tugging on his lower lip when he withdrew.

He was distancing himself quickly, meeting Szayel's eyes for a brief moment, before he made his way towards the door. Nnoitra stopped in the entrance and turned. "Thanks for the fuck," he said, flashing a grin. And then he was leaving, making his way back to his room so that he could pass out.

.

It wasn't unexpected that Nnoitra should refuse a meal so freely given from him. He was one of the most stubborn and wise of the Espada, and he knew Szayel the best of all their peers. Most thought him dangerous but only had a general idea of what he could do. It was Nnoitra that had a more specific and detailed knowledge of his capabilities.

Szayel liked his caution, even if it was far from enough to circumvent his efforts.

He let out a muffled grunt into the kiss and then righted himself when it was over.

Surprising that the man should thank him when Szayel had done it all according to his own selfish whims, but Szayel supposed that perhaps he did have _some_ sense of decorum after all.

"Likewise," was all he said, before turning back to the lab. When Nnoitra's presence faded, Szayel called out once more.

"I know what you want and you can have it."

Szayel looked in Aaroniero's general direction and smirked before disappearing into his shower room and sealing the door behind him. He was about to be saved an extraordinary amount of clean up.


	22. Part II: Chapter 15

.

**The Coronation of Self: Part II**

**Chapter Fifteen**

**By: Ryoko & SZP**

Nnoitra let himself into the lab, as had become customary lately. There was a time when he avoided this area of Las Noches with everything in him, but now Nnoitra almost didn't remember what it was like to feel uneasy in this space.

His reason for visiting was different today.

He couldn't feel Szayel's reiatsu, but something in him knew that the man was here. And while he couldn't feel Aaroniero's energy, Nnoitra was certain of his presence as well. The two had been together a lot lately. Nnoitra kept an eye on it, and sent Tesla when he couldn't. He didn't trust the Novena. There was definitely something off about how polite he was, and Nnoitra wasn't stupid enough to believe that he was genuine just because he smiled all the time. If anything, that made him less trustworthy. The man had definitely put himself on Nnoitra's shit list since he had taken up with the Octava. And the thought of them now in the lab, locked in one of Szayel's many rooms, set his teeth on edge.

Moving deeper into the space, Nnoitra made his way to one of the only other rooms he had been in. The first time he had stumbled upon it was when a Fracción was asinine enough to let him in. It seemed that they hadn't changed much since then. Nnoitra stalked over to find the room open, one of the Octava's subordinates working on the door. He would have grinned, except that he could already tell that Szayel wasn't here either. The Fracción eyed him. Nnoitra grabbed it by the face and threw it aside, barging into the room despite the knowledge that he wasn't going to find what he had been looking for.

He recalled the first time he had cheated his way into this space, how he had found Szayel. The Quinta eyed the chair that the other man had been seated in, he glanced up at the monitor that the other man had been watching; if he wasn't feeling so irate, he might have been turned on by the memory of Szayel fucking himself in this room.

Nnoitra turned to smash his fists against one of the control panels, feeling as some of the keys broke beneath the force. He had never cared about the sanctity of Szayel's equipment, and he certainly wasn't about to start now. The only thing that distracted him from ripping the entire place apart was the sound of the monitor turning on. Nnoitra cocked his head.

A few videos had popped up on the screen. He glanced at one and it took him a moment to realize that it was from their first encounter. Another video was one that he had already seen, Szayel on the table being fucked between himself and Grimmjow. Nnoitra wasn't surprised to see that there was also a recording of the Sexta's Fracción on his knees between Szayel's legs; he had always believed the man to be fucking his weak brother. The one that held his gaze, however, was of Aaroniero and Szayel. Nnoitra looked down at the controls. He had no idea how to get it to play on the full screen.

"Hey!" He turned to the shaking Fracción. It hesitated and he was sure that it was going to try to run. Nnoitra took one step and was on it, fisting a clump of its uniform. "That one."

He only gave it a second to see which video he was referring to, and then he was pressing it roughly against the panel. If he cared, he would have been impressed that the creature was able to work with the half-destroyed switches, but then the recording was playing and he could hear and see what was happening, and it didn't matter. He punted the Arrancar and took a step closer to the screen.

Aaroniero was taking Szayel from behind. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, and the man's driving hips had Szayel bracing himself against the wall. Nnoitra grit his teeth, watching as the Novena teased Szayel's ear, brought his hand down on Szayel's ass, worked his arm around to pump Szayel's cock in time with his thrusts. He had only seen the scientist this vulnerable a few times, but Aaroniero held a dominance over Szayel that made it look so easy.

Nnoitra's body tensed at the sounds, at the flush creeping over Szayel's skin. And then Aaroniero spoke and the Quinta fumed.

"_You like that, huh?_"

Nnoitra's fists clenched at his sides, his nails breaking through the skin of his palms at Szayel's response of slurred moans.

He couldn't watch anymore.

Nnoitra turned his back on the screen. He saw red. His muscles tightened with every step out of the lab, and his rage soared by the time he reached his room.

Tesla was sent out immediately to pick up his prey. If he couldn't take his wrath out on Szayel, then this would have to do. Nnoitra waited in his room, pacing the floor in order to keep up his energy. He was going to need it.

.

The only reason Yylfordt went with Tesla was because the little fucker had threatened to bring back Szayel to collar Grimmjow. He couldn't have that. Besides, it was his responsibility as a Fraccion to represent his Espada in whatever capacity. Yylfordt hadn't taken that shit seriously at all before. Now things were different. He wanted to do things for Grimmjow. It gave him a hell of a lot more pride than it used to, anyway. While he knew this couldn't be anything good, there was nothing he to be done about it. He had to go.

Yylfordt followed the weak shit-how he hated the pompous little asshole and his wife-beating Espada-back to his master's territory. He could tell even from far away that he was in for something horrible. If he was honest, judging by that reiatsu, Yylfordt didn't know if he'd come back alive.

.

Nnoitra stood at the foot of his bed, focusing all of his reiatsu on the presence that was approaching. Tesla had been trained to handle it, at least enough to push through, but the other man would be hit with his ire before he even saw him. When the door opened, his glare hardened.

Even if he had wanted to appear calm, it wasn't going to happen. The threatening pulse of his energy was enough to kill that. And so he had no problem pushing Tesla aside the moment that the door closed, his hand wrapping around Yylfordt's throat as he slammed the blond up against the wall. This was a favorite place to settle his hand on Szayel as well, and he used that to fuel his aggression.

"You," he growled, forcing his weight against the other man as his fingers tightened. "Tell me where he is."

Nnoitra was fairly certain that the Fracción would be of no help to him, but at least his uselessness would be justification for the Hell that he was about to be put through. Not that Nnoitra needed an excuse to destroy this man.

He raised Yylfordt a few inches from the floor and pressed harder against his throat. Putting himself in the other man's face, he yelled. "_Talk_, ya piece of shit!"

.

It was like being hit with a sledgehammer. Yylfordt's knees almost buckled. He was used to Grimmjow's reiatsu, but the Quinta had more of it. How much more he hadn't really appreciated until this moment. It was a fuckton. The thought almost made him grimace. He caught himself at the last moment and kept his expression carefully neutral.

Not that it mattered. The Quinta grabbed his throat and pinned him against the wall anyway. Yylfordt wanted to resist, to punch the fucker in the face or something, but he had more of a survival instinct than that.

This wasn't Grimmjow.

He couldn't get away with it and he wasn't strong enough to do shit about it. The thought had him trembling as he fought to suppress his ire. The Quinta yelling in his face didn't help. It was only when the question registered that Yylfordt calmed.

What the fuck did the Quinta want with Grimmjow? It wasn't like he couldn't wait for a fight or whatever until Grimmjow woke up. Yylfordt had no idea what was wrong with the man. More than that, though, he really didn't want to give up his Espada. Bad enough that he had to be here. Grimmjow deserved a fucking break from this asshole.

"You that fucking stupid you can't figure it out for yourself?" he said, his speech strained by Nnoitra's hand. His own tightened into fists at his sides and he glared at the man.

It wasn't a smart move. He didn't know why he had done it, really. But fuck it all. He'd go down like a man if that was how it was gonna be.

.

Nnoitra had never given this man a second thought until the moment that he realized he would be the perfect surrogate for his hatred. And now, with the blond in his grasp, his fate in Nnoitra's hand, he began to realize why Szayel had such a deep loathing for his brother.

The man was insufferable.

Nnoitra had him in the room for all of two minutes, and already he was acting like a defiant little prick. He had never any real reason to dislike the Fracción, only doing so because the man was a subordinate and therefore didn't matter. But now-now it was clear.

Nnoitra had to destroy him.

And while the man deserved it, he was not motivated by his newfound loathing for Yylfordt, and he was not motivated by his longstanding rivalry with Grimmjow. This was simply to prove a point. Leaving a slaughtered brother for Szayel to find was the only way to express the gravity of what he felt.

Nnoitra backed off enough to give himself the room that he needed, and then he punched Yylfordt violently in the face, grinning in satisfaction at the sound of his nose shattering. The next instant, he cracked his fist against the man's jaw.

His fingers around Yylfordt's throat loosened, and he grabbed his collar instead, using his strength to throw the man to the ground and his reiatsu to keep him there.

Nnoitra glared down at him, letting his energy beat in waves over the other man's form.

"Tell me," he said harshly. He brought his foot down on Yylfordt's ribs. "Or I'll fuckin' kill ya!"

.

The hand came so fast Yylfordt didn't even know he'd been hit until his head impacted the wall, his nose fucking shattering with the impact. His head was then snapping to the side as the Quinta dealt him another blow. The pain was sharp and immediate, but nothing Yylfordt couldn't handle.

Before he could make the smart remark he wanted to, he was being thrown on the ground like some kind of weak, pathetic-Yylfordt gritted his teeth as the Quinta's reiatsu slammed into him. This and the foot on his chest stole his breath for the moment.

Yylfordt sneered at the man. He'd have wiped the blood off his face if he could have raised a hand.

"You hit like a girl," he said, when he got some breath back. Bastard was probably gonna kill him anyway so it didn't matter what he said.

.

Nnoitra let out all of his reiatsu at once, focusing it solely on the blond at his feet. It was overkill; the man couldn't even move with the little that he had shown before. But now he was pissed and he had even more to prove. He needed Yylfordt to feel as weak as he truly was.

When he moved closer to the Fracción, he met the man's eyes, his own flashing with a deadly glare. And then he was over him, bringing the heel of his boot down on Yylfordt's chest in rapid succession. He stepped on a hand, holding Yylfordt's palm against the floor, and bent down, grabbing the man's pinky in his hand. With a quick motion, he brought Yylfordt's finger back, grinning wildly as it broke, and hastily repeating the motion with the other three and his thumb.

Something inside of him snapped and he was overcome with a predatory desire.

Nnoitra cracked his fist against the side of Yylfordt's face once, and then again, and then again. He felt crazed, and in in an instant, he was hovering over the other man's face. Nnoitra sat back, his fingers gripping at Yylfordt's collar and yanking the uniform open. Nails dug into skin, and he jerked his hands back, tearing through flesh with ease. He kept it up, ripping and pulling at the wounds he had already left, ravaging the other man, not stopping even when blood began to spatter across his face and jacket. His fingers were stained red, but that only made him more fierce, and he kept it up, unconscious of the fact that he was panting.

He could have grabbed for Santa Teresa, but that wouldn't be the same as tearing the man apart with his bare hands. He felt wild-like he had regressed-but it didn't matter. Nnoitra had always been a beast, and now his true nature was shining.

.

Yylfordt couldn't have cried out even if he had wanted to. His lungs were empty of air and he couldn't get any with that immense reiatsu crushing down on him all at once. His body took the first impact, but the second cracked and the third shattered his sternum. The pain was incredible, but he couldn't so much as move a finger to stop it. Yylfordt glared up at the man even as he could feel his ribs popping and breaking under that unyielding man's foot. His mouth opened and closed in a silent scream as one punctured through his flesh to jut upwards when the Quinta's heel forced skin and muscle down over it.

Yylfordt endured this and the breaking of his fingers in silence. He had had worse. Or so he kept telling himself. He could take this. He _would_ take this.

It took the Quinta's fist to his head to debase him of the notion. Yylfordt felt teeth shatter and cut into his tongue. Blood burbled past his lips as his face swelled. But the Quinta still wasn't done. As he ripped into Yylfordt's flesh again and again and _again_ it occurred to him through one of the only hazy thoughts he could muster with his head throbbing and his vision darkening, that he was going to die here.

Blood seeped from all of Yylfordt's orifices and wounds to form an ever-widening pool as he finally passed out.

.

Nnoitra almost forgot about why he had started this. His reiatsu was thrumming now, pulsing through his veins like an aggressive heartbeat.

He kept up his violent motions, tearing at skin until his hands were covered in blood up to his elbows. Nnoitra was vicious, pushing down until broken ribs ripped through the thin layers of flesh that he had left. The sensation shot through him, sent a shiver up his spine.

Nnoitra could just barely feel when Yylfordt stopped moving, but he knew of it when it happened. It didn't stop him. His deranged behavior held up, over everything else. It didn't matter that the man was probably dead beneath him or that he had stopped thinking about his actions or that this entire situation was going to his head. What was significant was the tear of flesh beneath his fingers, the slick feel of the fluids under his hands, the smell of sweat and blood and _victory_ hanging in the air. His pupil dilated. He was torn between wrenching the man's limbs from his body or licking the blood from his open chest.

Nnoitra slipped a few fingers into the puncture that a rib was making, and began to tug on the skin, watching with a feral desire as the wound split. He pulled harder, exposing more, and his breath picked up again. The Quinta was on him in a second, using both hands to pull apart flesh. He resisted the urge to lap at the blood, instead picking up his pace again and opening each of the gouges he had left behind. He really was going to butcher this man.

.

Nnoitra was losing himself. Or, rather, had _already_ lost himself long before. Tesla sat through it for some time, stoic gaze never leaving Yylfordt's ravaged body. It was only when the man passed out that he began to worry. It wasn't that he cared about the Sexta's Fraccion in the least. Rather, Tesla was worried for Nnoitra's sake. Aizen had punished Nnoitra recently. If Nnoitra killed the Sexta's Fraccion, killed Yylfordt, the Sexta would be after him immediately. Aizen might feel the need to do something more severe to Nnoitra if that happened.

Tesla couldn't have that.

He let Nnoitra go for a minute more before flinging himself on top of Yylfordt's prone body. Tesla was careful not to put any weight on the man's destroyed chest.

"Nnoitra-sama, please!" Blood soaked through the knees of his outfit and squished between his fingers, but he did not move. "Use me!"

Aizen wouldn't get mad about Nnoitra hurting him. It was okay. It would all be okay.

.

Nnoitra was in the middle of tearing open another wound when his Fracción was interrupting him. He had completely disregarded Tesla's presence up until this point, forgotten that he was even in the room, and to have him appear so suddenly and while Nnoitra was busy, brought him back from his haze.

He was in the way. He was keeping Nnoitra from devouring his prey. But, while the man's request surprised him, he was more concerned with the fact that he actually considered approving. It only took him a moment to realize that a fresh body would be much more satisfying than one he had already slaughtered.

Nnoitra grabbed Tesla's hair and stood, pulling the man up with him. He gave the blond a powerful slap across the face, jerking his head back by the fingers in his hair. For once in his life, Tesla had a decent idea. Nnoitra's energy was still raging, and with it, so was his arousal; his kill had put him in the mood for a fuck. Sliding a bloodied hand over Tesla's cheek, he grabbed the man by his face and dragged him over to the side of the bed.

His motions were hurried and forceful as he rid himself of his uniform, except for his boots. Nnoitra tore at Tesla's clothing as well, stripping him and scoring his nails violently over the exposed skin.

The Quinta bent his subordinate over the bed and thrust into him savagely and all at once. He began to move immediately, growling as his hips jerked. The fingers in Tesla's hair tightened, and he pulled, lowering his head to speak threateningly into an ear.

"_Pray_."

It was all that he said, but the man would know what it meant. His own code that he had brainwashed his Fracción into understanding. While he had trained Tesla to be a tool for his use, he still needed the man to cry out or react like the whore that he was when he wanted him to. And though he often only gave Tesla the ability to become erect without relief, he had instilled this one word to give back each of his liberties at once. He was being generous. But he wanted to fuck something with a response, and this was the best that he could do.

Nnoitra's nails tore open the flesh of Tesla's back and he moved faster.

Tesla closed his eye and prepared for the worst. But instead, he only received a light slap before he was being dragged to the bed. It occurred to him that this could be the prelude to his destruction until Nnoitra bent him over and thrust into his body. Tesla, of course, didn't utter a sound, not even when Nnoitra ripped his back open. He simply took what Nnoitra had to give with the heady knowledge that the man needed him for something bolstering his spirits. He might have smiled or even grinned, but he knew Nnoitra wouldn't approve of that. He had made such very clear in the past.

But then Nnoitra was pulling his head back and whispering that one word that changed everything. Tesla's eye widened as both the mental and physical blocks Nnoitra had instilled in him were ripped away. He was erect in an instant and moaning Nnoitra's name-appellation included, of course-as he writhed underneath him. Tesla couldn't believe how generous Nnoitra was being. It only proved how wonderful the man was. Who else would afford someone like him such a precious opportunity? No, it didn't matter who would or wouldn't. Nnoitra was and would always be the only one of whom he ever thought.

Tesla arched into the touch of Nnoitra's nails scoring him once more even as he rocked back against the man.

.

He rarely gave Tesla all of his freedoms, especially at once, but the man had given himself as an offering and Nnoitra had no intention of letting it go to waste. The blond really had _no idea_ what he had volunteered for.

With every aggressive thrust into his Fracción, he was recalling why his anger had boiled over to begin with.

Up until this point, he had been able to overlook what he had seen in the lab, instead focusing all of his attention and rage on the Octava's brother. But with Tesla bent over his bed, his fury intensified. It reminded him of the way that Aaroniero had held such control over Szayel. It reminded him of the fact that the man had taken what belonged to _him_. Nnoitra growled and ripped open the skin of Tesla's back, adding his own subordinate's blood to his hands, still crimson from what he had done to Yylfordt.

The Quinta could feel the bits of flesh that stuck beneath his nails as he repeated the process again and again. He was grinning savagely. The fact that he was fucking the man wouldn't have been nearly enough. It was _this_-this brutal marking of what belonged to him-that was going to his head and causing him to thrust more violently. The bed shook each time, and the sound of it shifting against the floor echoed the beat that was thrumming through his body.

Nnoitra had slaughtered Yylfordt to release some of his rage. What he was doing to Tesla now was for the sole purpose of holding complete dominion over someone else. It should have been Szayel. But that would come later.

.

Tesla could have come already just from the thought of Nnoitra doing this to him. Despite his permission, he did not and would not until Nnoitra was satisfied. Nnoitra would always come first in his mind no matter the circumstances. Which was why the nails in his back weren't unwelcome either, no matter how many times Nnoitra slashed into him. It hurt, of course. It really hurt. But he was beyond caring about that kind of pain. Instead, his mind redirected it all to pleasure. He was liberated at the moment, but even if he hadn't been he would have enjoyed it for the fact it was something Nnoitra was doing to him.

Blood trailed down his back to drip down his shoulders and onto the bed. It stuck in his hair and ran down his arms and sides, but Tesla didn't care. He didn't even mind the fact he would have to clean it all up. Everything was for Nnoitra's sake.

Tesla's moans grew louder with every brutal thrust and scrape, until he was almost screaming Nnoitra's name.

.

Every noise that Tesla made was ringing off of the walls, and the sharpness and the neediness of his pathetic cries simultaneously heightened the Quinta's anger and his carnal desire. He took full advantage of the body beneath him, slashing his nails over the skin that he had already torn and spreading blood lower over his Fracción's back. Nnoitra raised a hand to lick at the remnants of flesh and blood, before bringing it down with a loud clap against Tesla's ass. The sound was enough to have him speeding up, and he repeated himself, every slap more extreme than the last.

His thrusts were brutal and he grabbed Tesla's hips and hauled him back to meet each one. Nnoitra couldn't feel anything, except for how fucking raw he was rubbing Tesla; everything else blurred behind that sensation of skin splitting around him. He was hardly aware of the air in his lungs, only noticing that he was panting when he heard it echo in the room.

Nnoitra grabbed at broken flesh in the hopes of finding some leverage, but it only tore under the force of his motions, and his hands slipped in blood instead. He snarled. He wanted to pull the man against him with everything that he had, rip him apart from the inside.

Nnoitra gripped the short hairs at the nape of Tesla's neck and jerked his head back forcefully, while his other hand rested on the side of the man's face. His fingers pierced through the blond'e eyepatch, nails already digging into the sides of the empty socket. He pulled back with every one of his drives forward, using his hold for support, and jerked his hips harder and faster, until he could feel the surge of blood welling up around his cock.

And then he was grinning, almost laughing, and pounding even harder for good measure.

.

Tesla's breath hitched as Nnoitra began to spank him. His fists tightened in the sheets and he paused in his moaning to let out a shaky breath. Nnoitra was strong. Tesla's bones creaked. He knew that if he had been fighting against that motion, he would likely have broken something. Nnoitra was being far more vicious than usual. Tesla wondered how the Sexta, or maybe the Octava, had wronged him, but he knew he would find out in time if it was something Nnoitra wanted to tell him.

Tesla was brought from his momentary thought by Nnoitra's fingers at the nape of his neck. He made a strangled noise as the man pierced his eye patch and dug his fingers into the socket underneath without regard for Tesla's remaining eyelids. It was all so eerily reminiscent of how he had lost the eye in the first pla-

No. No he wasn't thinking about that. Not with Nnoitra's cock tearing into him, not with Nnoitra's nails in his eye socket, his panting breath echoing in Tesla's ears.

Tesla rocked back with Nnoitra's thrusts in a desperate attempt to keep the man from breaking his neck with the force of his motions. Despite the fact that he wouldn't utter a word of protest if Nnoitra decided to kill him, he didn't want to leave his Espada behind. There was still too much he had left to give. Nnoitra _needed_ him.

The thought almost made Tesla come again. It was only his strong desire to save himself for Nnoitra that kept him from it. He wouldn't be able to hold out for too much longer though.

.

Nnoitra felt crazed. He had taken Tesla mercilessly before, but this was entirely different. There was something bestial about all of this that had him wanting to rip the man to shreds when he was finished with him. In his haze, he couldn't guarantee that he _wouldn't_.

Tesla's reactions were exactly what he was used to. It angered him, kept him going, had him speeding up; his hips jerked harder in an attempt to break the man around him.

Nnoitra clenched his jaw. He tore his fingers from the blond's eye socket, and grabbed Tesla's hips again with both hands, anchoring himself with his nails. He gave a harsh pull. Every thrust forward was accompanied by a violent haul back, until the sound of skin slapping skin was overpowered by the feeling that he was going to break Tesla's tailbone.

Sweat rolled down the sides of his face, slipped over his back, but he only picked up speed and force. He almost heard himself repeat Aaroniero's words to Szayel, almost opened his mouth to ask the same question to his Fracción. Nnoitra ground his teeth painfully to keep from speaking, and thrust savagely, until all of the muscles in his body tightened at once. He came with a growl and didn't even slow his movements until he felt his hips twitch. And then he pulled out forcibly, ripping skin at the quickness of it.

.

Tesla was not some delicate and worthless human. He was an Arrancar worthy of being Nnoitra's subordinate. But that didn't mean he matched the man for strength. Not even close, for which he was glad. He was nothing compared to Nnoitra and he knew it, but never had it quite been reinforced like this. Tesla thought he might break. As it was, he knew he would take a long time to be able to sit down again, let alone heal properly.

Tesla was so very grateful for the training that allowed him to withstand even with the kind of mind blowing pleasure Nnoitra was giving him right now. Tesla would last.

His head fell forward when Nnoitra released it. Tesla took every punishing thrust. He was grateful, too, for the bed which steadied him so that Nnoitra could use his body this way without Tesla jerking too far forward.

Tesla held on. He lasted even as Nnoitra came. It was when the man pulled out, ruining him in the process, that he came. Tesla screamed at the release even as he felt blood and come running freely down his legs. Tesla wilted when it was all over. He panted against the sullied sheets for a few moments before standing on very shaky legs to wait for Nnoitra's next order.

.

Even after his release, Nnoitra's body was still thrumming with energy. The smells of blood and sweat were heavy in the air, making him feral. He wanted to taste it.

The Quinta glanced down at Yylfordt's limp body, his concentration only breaking with the sound of Tesla panting against his mattress. When he turned, the blond was already on his feet, though it looked as if he could collapse at any minute. Nnoitra watched him, his own chest rising and falling quickly, looking to the man's neck and shoulders stained with blood. He sucked in a quick breath, and then he was on him, pinning Tesla back against the bed and straddling his hips.

Nnoitra could hardly contain himself. He lowered his head to lap at skin, groaning in delight at that coppery taste; he didn't even bite, simply licked the side of the other man's throat clean before moving his mouth to suck on Tesla's neck. The flavor was so familiar, reminding him of his bouts of sex with Szayel. Before he could even think it over, he was sitting back and bringing his fist down hard against his Fracción's jaw. He didn't give the man any time to right himself before grabbing him by the chin and meeting his lips with fervor. Nnoitra let out a growl as he forced his tongue past Tesla's teeth and explored the new heat of the man's mouth.

.

If Tesla could have become erect so soon he would have just from the way Nnoitra was looking at him. Tesla opened his mouth to say something, but was pushed back onto the bed and straddled. The heat from Nnoitra's body on his groin area didn't make it any easier. This was as close as he had or would ever come to-no, Tesla wouldn't even think the thought. He wasn't worthy and he never would be. Even if he could have gotten a fresh boner now, he wouldn't have let it happen.

It was hard, though. With Nnoitra lavishing attention on him like this. Tesla's breath hitched in his throat. He didn't even mind the punch. His body belonged to Nnoitra in its entirety.

Then Nnoitra was kissing him. Actually, really kissing him. Tesla couldn't hide his surprise, or his adoration. His eye went wide, taking his mouth with it as Nnoitra probed him with his tongue. Tesla's entire body shuddered. His hands fisted in the sheets and he nearly cried with how happy he was as he tentatively returned the kiss. Nnoitra wanted him, wanted to do _this_ with him. Tesla hadn't kissed anyone in so long that he had no idea what he was doing anymore. He did his best to mimic Nnoitra's motions, to give the man what he wanted.

Later, in his weakest hour, Tesla would remember this and cry to himself.

.

The Quinta felt lightheaded. Everything was a blur of blood and skin, from the tastes in his mouth to the sensations beneath his fingers. He was breathing heavily through his nose, biting hard on Tesla's lip, before he went at him again. The blond's reaction was the most realistic thing he had witnessed all day. Yylfordt had been bullshitting his way through his attack, feigning resilience even as his ribs were breaking inside of him. And every overplayed moan that had ripped from Tesla's throat was just like the last, just like everything Nnoitra had already heard. If it hadn't been for who it was, the Espada would have found it refreshing. As it was, the moment that Tesla returned the kiss, Nnoitra was pulling back, glaring down as if seeing his Fracción for the first time.

Nnoitra had started to rock his hips again, but stopped himself. He was panting now into the open air. It wasn't that he had believed himself to be with Szayel, but he could at least use Tesla as an outlet for that energy; of course, not if the man was useless. His incompetence would make it impossible to forget that he was fucking the blond and not the Octava.

He stood quickly from the bed, stepping through Yylfordt's blood and over his body towards his bathroom.

"Get rid of him," he said, not even looking at his subordinate when he spoke. "And clean that shit up!"

Nnoitra stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door closed behind him.

.

The Octava was waiting when Tesla arrived. He'd been doing his best to get there, but it was hard to even walk, let alone use Sonido with his body as destroyed as it was. Tesla went in and out of it, stopping only when the pain in his back and ass became too much. He knew he had to get the Sexta's Fraccion to the Octava to be healed as soon as possible. He couldn't let the man die or Nnoitra might be in danger. It was up to him to protect Nnoitra from this.

Tesla raced to the lab as his and Yylfordt's blood left a dripping trail all the way back to Nnoitra's room. He would have to clean this up too. But first-

"GIVE ME THAT."

The Octava never so much as lost his cool, but now he was shrieking.

Tesla opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Yylfordt's limp body was ripped from his arms and the man was hurrying away via sonido. Tesla hesitated before following. He had to make sure…

.

Grimmjow woke up to an unsettling in the pit of his stomach. His eyes squinted open. Something didn't feel right almost immediately, and he rolled over to press against the other man in an attempt to ignore it. Except that the bed was empty. And cold.

Lifting his head, the Sexta scanned the room. Even before he looked, he could tell that the man wasn't there. The unnerving feeling that he'd had spiked now that he was searching for Yylfordt's reiatsu. Something inside of him seemed to urge him on, and he yanked the blankets aside and got out of bed.

He stepped into his hakama and grabbed his jacket, pulling it on as he left the room and headed down the hallway. Grimmjow was anxious. He could just barely sense the other man's energy, and that dull throb had each of his footsteps falling heavier on the hard ground. There was only one logical place for the man to be; that thought alone had him picking up his speed.

Grimmjow reached the lab and let himself inside. He had hoped that he would never have to come back to this room, but it made sense. And he could make out the slightest pulse of reiatsu coming from one of the Octava's rooms.

"Granz!" he yelled as he made his way deeper into the lab. "Where the fuck is he?"

.

Szayel knew it would be bad. His spectral parasites had been sending him wave after wave of data that had Szayel leaving red half-circles in his palms. He still wasn't prepared for the reality of Yylfordt's destroyed body, for the broken ribs sticking out at odd angles through barely recognizable flesh, for the face so swollen Szayel wondered how it was the man still had a jaw.

He began emergency treatment as soon as he had his brother in his arms. If it wasn't for his spectral parasites and their programming to regenerate flesh, Yylfordt would be…he would be-

Szayel gritted his teeth and hurried his Sonido. That _idiot_. Szayel's anger knew no bounds despite its lack of firm direction. His fingers tightened against Yylfordt's sides as the man's breath whistled in, his chest making a squelching noise as lungs rubbed against broken ribs. Blood bubbled from Yylfordt's nose and mouth as his head lolled to the side.

Szayel was deep in his lab, but not deep enough when he felt the Sexta's reiatsu racing beside his own. Szayel caught a glimpse of the man through an open doorway, but didn't even pause in his Sonido.

Of all the people-

He didn't have time for this. Or, rather, _Yylfordt_ didn't have time for it.

"Get out," he said, his tone a high screech that would have jarred him if he hadn't been so intent on getting Yylfordt to his emergency suite.

Szayel came to a complete stop in front of the tank of greenish liquid he used to heal himself when necessary. There was no time, no time for any of this! He lowered his brother's body into the liquid thankful, for once, that their genetic codes were so similar. If Yylfordt hadn't been his twin….

Szayel would have to operate. But first he needed something to operate _on_. There wasn't even enough useable flesh to do anything with right now. Nnoitra had-

Szayel looked down at his hands, at the blood staining his gloves, his chest. Everything. His whole outfit was ruined, but for once he didn't think of changing it.

It was then that Szayel noticed Tesla had followed him. His eyes narrowed when the Fraccion asked him if Yylfordt would be alright. His reiatsu flared. Szayel snapped his fingers to activate the suppressors designed specifically for this one. He turned back to the tank as Tesla collapsed to the floor. Later. Right now, there was no time.

.

Grimmjow only saw a flash of the Octava, and then he was quickly following. Yylfordt's reiatsu was faint, but he knew that it was here; how much longer, he couldn't be sure, especially in the hands of this man. It made him vicious to think of what the blond had endured, even without knowing what Szayel had done to him. It wasn't as if he needed an excuse to ignore his fellow Espada's remark, but this would certainly be a good one.

He eyed Tesla as he stalked to the room that Szayel had disappeared into, letting his gaze travel briefly over the man's abused back. It didn't make any sense that the Octava would do that kind of damage, and even if he had, his attack would have been much more precise. The Fracción was easy enough to disregard.

When he stepped into the room, Grimmjow suddenly felt physically ill.

He was able to set aside his loathing for Szayel long enough to see the other man submerged in the tub, though he hardly looked like a man, especially one that he had come to know. Even through the liquid, he could discern the damage that had been done to his subordinate. His breathing picked up; everything inside of him seemed to tighten. If he could guarantee that it wouldn't cause more of a problem, he would have reached in and pulled the man out. But Grimmjow knew nothing about what Szayel had done or what he was doing now. Yylfordt had already suffered enough.

Simply because the Octava wasn't already working on his brother, Grimmjow turned and grabbed him by the collar of his uniform. He had to fight to keep himself from becoming frantic, almost shaking with rage and worry when he put himself in Szayel's face.

"What the fuck did you do to him?" he asked, his voice cracking.

It took all of his restraint to keep from punching the other man in the face. At the moment, Szayel was probably the only solution to this problem, and Grimmjow wanted that above anything else.

.

Szayel didn't hear a word Grimmjow said. In that instant, his unnatural anger found an outlet. He punched the man in the face, gratifying in the way his fist turned the Sexta's head to the side and in the loud sound of the impact which echoed through the room.

"Fool! Idiot! You can't even protect your own Fraccion. And now look what's become of him. This is all your fault." The hysteria that was building inside was evident in the tone of his voice and his wide, wide eyes. Szayel wrenched himself loose and turned away to call out for his Fraccion. One came closer and he immediately crushed its head.

There was no time for surgery. No time. The data didn't support its success. This would have to do.

Szayel tore off a large chunk with his teeth and chewed it to a pulp. He then spit it into the tank and repeated the process. If they hadn't been twins-

No, no, nononono.

Szayel became even more vicious with his Fraccion's dead body, tearing and chewing and spitting until the solution was red and cloudy.

.

The hit surprised him. Considering how many times he had the other man in this position lately, he would have expected a snide remark or self-righteous comment. But Szayel's reaction was much more _human_ than Grimmjow even thought possible, and that alone had him snapping out of the blur of the situation. That and the actual fist to his jaw.

Of course, he was only torn from that daze for a brief moment, and then Szayel's words were hitting him even harder than his fist. They weighed down on him for longer than he would have liked to admit, and it was only the other man pulling away that brought him back.

Grimmjow would have said something then, but the Octava was becoming panicky and so he watched. Normally, seeing Szayel this undone would have been rewarding, but considering the circumstances, he was tensing instead. If Yylfordt couldn't be fixed, if his brother's frenzied motions were proof of how far gone he was, Grimmjow would never forgive himself. Szayel's words were true. It was _his_ fault for not protecting Yylfordt from this.

He slammed his hands down on the side of the tub and glared at the other man, his breath coming roughly. "He was in my fucking bed!" The statement seemed more of an observation for himself than for the other Espada.

He glanced down at Yylfordt and then back up at Szayel with a slight pout. "How the fuck did this even happen?"

.

The only thing that kept Szayel from hyperventilating was the fact that Yylfordt had finally begun to respond to the nutrients Szayel had just dumped into his healing solution. Szayel dipped his hand into the liquid and wiped off his crimson mouth with it. His fingers shook as he returned them to the side of the tub. It was only then that he turned, his gaze as cutting as any sharp instrument he had ever wielded, to face the Sexta.

"Don't you _dare_."

Szayel pointed a finger in the other man's face.

"He meant that little to you, even after everything I did?" Szayel scowled, his hand clenching around the rim of the tub. "You don't deserve him. You have _never_ deserved him." His voice rose in pitch until he was certain the glass cradling Yylfordt might explode. This was the only thing that stopped Szayel from saying more.

.

Grimmjow would have been more affected by Szayel's hysteria if he had thought about it for long, but as soon as the other man spoke, he was allowing his anger to take over again.

"Everything _you_ did?" he asked, sending his own glare back at the Octava.

"Y'mean how you locked him up down here for a fuckin' week and _raped_ him?"

He hadn't ever actually spoken those words aloud nor had Yylfordt said them in his presence, and hearing them now almost made him sick. The feeling was enough to keep him from lashing out; his knuckles whitened from his grip on the edge of the tub.

The Sexta had been humiliated and abused verbally, physically, and mentally by Szayel. He had taken the insults and the collars and the week alone in the desert, and had even tolerated being fucked by Nnoitra. But nothing had affected him quite like being told that he didn't deserve Yylfordt. Something in the pit of his stomach seemed to tighten at the veracity in the other Espada's words. It had been true enough before, but things were different now. Even if he couldn't explain it. Even if they never said it. He _felt_ it. Grimmjow knew because it was the first time he had _ever_ felt that way. It was such a strange sensation after so long of being alone; it was impossible to ignore, despite his best efforts at doing so.

And as much as it made him crazy to hear Szayel talking about Yylfordt as if he suddenly cared, Grimmjow loosened his grip. He took a step back, turning his focus one again to the blond.

"Just…" Grimmjow sucked in a deep breath and kept his eyes down. "Just tell me he's gonna be okay."

On any other occasion, Szayel would have delighted in illuminating Grimmjow as to his plans regarding the two. Not right now. He didn't care what Grimmjow said or did. The only reason he hadn't expelled the man from his presence or reduced him to Tesla's equal on the floor was that it would take precious time away.

"I know _every single thing_ you have ever done to him." Szayel turned from glaring at Grimmjow back to the person he actually cared about. _Cared about._ It would haunt him later how easily he had had that foolish, weak thought. Irrational. Unacceptable.

Reality.

Szayel's hands trembled and he swallowed hard. It was only when Grimmjow spoke again that he was able to tear himself from his mounting emotional anxiety.

"Okay? _Okay?_ Of course he's going to be okay." Szayel ignored the rising pitch of his voice as he stared at the data streaming in on the monitor right beside the tank. "I'm taking care of him. I've always taken care of him."

He always had via his spectral parasites because it didn't matter that Yylfordt was an inelegant, weak Fraccion. He was Szayel's twin. There could be no stronger bond than genetics. And though Szayel had never acknowledged it, especially in his own mind, he was very painfully aware of it. Whether Szayel liked it or not, there was a being who shared his perfect DNA. The fact that nothing tangibly admirable had manifested in the man did not change a thing. How he hated Yylfordt for that. But Szayel could no more let him die for it than he could kill him with his own hands. A thousand times he had come close to trying, but never could he go through with it. This was no different.

"Damn you," Szayel said, although it was not clear to whom he was speaking.

.

Even if he didn't want to give the other Espada the satisfaction of becoming angry, rage was something that he was much too familiar with to just ignore now. Grimmjow let go of the tub to clench his fists, his nails digging into his palms with the force of his grip. All of the fury that he would have loved to unleash on the Octava was being turned inward. It was the only thing that he could do at the moment. It didn't seem right to have this argument over Yylfordt's unconscious body, and if the Sexta allowed himself to react the way that would have made him feel the best, he would risk his Fracción's life again. He needed Szayel well enough to keep Yylfordt alive. That was his only reasoning for backing down.

Every word out of Szayel's mouth set his teeth on edge, until he finally had to leave the room entirely. He couldn't be that close to the other man and not destroy him.

Grimmjow stepped back out into the lab, pacing the floor as he tried to release some of his energy in the only way that he could. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, cracking his knuckles, rolling his shoulders. It was the same routine he had when preparing to annihilate someone in a fight, except that, this time, there was no one to use as an outlet for his anger.

Neither he nor Szayel deserved Yylfordt. That became abundantly clear as he walked back and forth. Both of the Espada had done horrible shit to that man, that man that they both claimed to take care of, and _neither of them deserved him._

Grimmjow ground his teeth and turned to slam his fist against the wall. It didn't matter that his knuckles split because he repeated himself a few more times; the pain never registered over the clusterfuck in his mind. He sat down on the floor and let his head fall back. A few weeks ago, he would have been disgusted with himself for reacting this way. Now, it was the only response that made sense. Massaging his temples, he waited, still feeling for that familiar pulse of reiatsu to flicker on again.

.

Szayel didn't emerge for quite some time. When he did, it was only because he had finally gotten Yylfordt stabilized and sedated. Yylfordt needed his rest and Szayel would see to that and his safety by keeping the Sexta and all others away. The chamber was now sealed. He was the only one who could open it. Not even his Fraccion had free access.

Szayel stared at the Sexta for a long time.

"You should leave," he said, finally.

.

Grimmjow was so lost in his own head that he didn't even notice the other man until the door was sealed shut. His eyes were focused on it for a few minutes. The fact that it was now closed seemed to change the entire situation. He hadn't expected to have everything handed nicely to him, especially considering the man that he was dealing with, but the locked door was almost a finality. Not that he would let it end like this.

He hardly acknowledged Szayel, even as he was spoken to, breaking his stare from the door to shift his focus ahead. Already, with just the few words, his calm was starting to falter. He was fighting with everything inside of him to keep himself from ripping the Octava to shreds.

After a moment, Grimmjow glanced out of the corner of his eye. "I'm not leavin' without him."

.

A muscle in Szayel's forehead twitched. He closed his eyes in a slow blink and inhaled.

"By all means, _stay_, then."

Now that Szayel had come to terms with his _weakness_-oh, how wretched, how despicable-he was going to make good use of it. Yylfordt would serve a purpose.

Szayel strode past the Sexta and began walking away.

.

Nnoitra stalked down the hallways. Under normal circumstances, those that were around would step aside to let him through; only a few had ever tested his patience by moving just a bit too slowly. Now, however, there was an added fear that seemed apparent in the Arrancar that he strode passed.

The Quinta had spent a good deal of time in his bathroom, simply sizing himself up in the mirror. Even after he felt Tesla's reiatsu move away, he couldn't take his gaze from the sight of himself, his skin stained with the blood of the other two men. With each passing moment, his ferocity intensified. He still had an overwhelming amount of energy that he needed to let loose. And so he pulled his hakama up, the material hanging around his hips, and set off for the lab.

After all, so much available flesh would be there just _begging_ to be ripped apart.

Every Arrancar that he passed was flashed the same malicious smile, and their unease helped to amplify his already-aggravated sense of power.

Nnoitra kicked the door to the lab open. His eye scanned the room, ignoring everything and everyone to settle his focus on the Octava. He cocked his head and disregarded the feel of his hair as it clung to the blood along his collarbone. His grin widened. "Yo."

.

Grimmjow had determined that he would pay the scientist no attention. It was the only thing that he could do, given the circumstances. He had to set aside every impulse that was telling him otherwise, telling him to get up and tear Szayel to shreds. He fought to relax against the wall.

The door swung open powerfully and he looked up.

Somehow, the Quinta looked even more menacing than usual. It had his muscles tightening and he clenched his teeth to keep from voicing his anger. This was definitely not what he needed right now.

.

Szayel's sensors had alerted him to Nnoitra's coming, but even without them he would have known by the agitated reiatsu the man was giving off.

His hands balled into fists at his sides before he could stop them. He returned them to normal just as quickly. This was the absolute worst, but since Szayel had had a little time to prepare, he was able to act as if everything was normal.

"You're dirty." Szayel said this despite the fact his uniform was also covered in blood. He would have been on his way to change without the interruption.

.

Nnoitra hardly paid attention to the comment. Instead, he let himself deeper into the lab, making his way towards Szayel. His breath was heavy and every step was amplifying his intense energy.

He stopped in front of the Octava, allowing his eye to regard the other man now that their distance had narrowed. When he met Szayel's gaze again, it was with a predatory stare.

"So are you," he said, his voice low. His grin faded.

Nnoitra moved quickly, releasing more of his pulsing reiatsu as he grabbed Szayel by the throat. His grip was tighter than usual, mimicking all of the muscles in his body. Running a few fingers over his own bare chest, he raised his hand, holding the other Espada's eyes while he licked the blood from each digit. A deep growl of satisfaction rumbled from his chest and he flashed his teeth.

"Want some?" he asked, his hold strengthening even more. He repeated himself, staining his lips with blood, and lowered his head to speak almost directly against Szayel's mouth. "It's yer favorite."

.

"I am hardly interested in blood spilled by others." Not when it had no scientific value. "Especially that of mere Fraccion."

Szayel raised a brow. His gaze was filled with amusement and, underlying that, contempt. The Quinta really had overstepped his bounds. Szayel still intended to keep him as a plaything, but it now appeared a little training was in order. That would come later. For now, his main concern lay recovering in the other room.

Szayel gripped the hand around his throat and pulled it away with a burst of help from a carefully directed suppressor. He wanted to snap the man's wrist, wanted to flay him where he stood, but that would be counterproductive. The move was already undermining the Quinta's illusion of sexual dominion. Szayel didn't need to do any more.

He leaned in and licked the shell the Quinta's ear as if everything was normal.

"Come back when you have something more than the blood of trash to offer me," he said, his voice a low, sensual whisper. Then he was moving past the man to saunter toward his private rooms once more.

.

Nnoitra had quelled his energy enough to appear somewhat in control. But being ignored by the other man was making it more difficult to keep himself from lashing out, from releasing what remained of his energy all at once. When Szayel turned, Nnoitra grabbed him by the arm, jerking him back a bit closer so that he could look him in the eye.

"Pain in the ass," he muttered. His hand moved to grip at the collar of the Octava's uniform and he pulled a bit to show his strength.

Nnoitra's customary grin was gone; it was one of the things that he had been veiling in order to keep his facade of composure. Now, however, he was faltering. He clenched his jaw in order to keep from flashing his teeth, and he raised his free hand to swipe nails over the skin of his own chest. The movement was quick, but with enough force behind it that he left four significant slashes in himself. It had him shuddering.

Licking only one of his fingers clean, he wiped his bloodied hand over the side of Szayel's cheek. Nnoitra allowed the faintest smirk to pull at the corner of his lips before he dipped his head to breath against the other man's ear.

"How about mine then?"

.

Szayel kept his gaze a pleasant neutral as Nnoitra smeared blood over his face. On any other occasion, he would have been more than happy to give in. Not now. Still, he did extend his tongue past perfect lips to indulge a little bit.

"Enticing. However, I'm afraid you've caught me at a bad time." Szayel licked his lips clean of the blood and smirked.

"Why don't you amuse yourself with the Sexta instead?" Grimmjow deserved that and much worse. Szayel wouldn't lift a finger to help him until all was finished either. And that would only be done to guard against Aizen's wrath.

.

Well, folks, that's it! The end of the dual POVs. Next chapter we switch back to Szayel's POV only as I try to continue this back story where we left off. And then it's on to Part III. Thanks for your unending patience.


End file.
